The Things We Carry
by Frankie in Like
Summary: Sequel to An Uneasy Alliance.  Toriana begins to understand the things she carries with her, both tangible and intangible, and what others carry as well.  As she learns to deal with her own burden, there is always one certain person there to help her.
1. The things we learn

**Author's Note:** This story is the sequel to An Uneasy Alliance - make sure you read that story before you read this one or this won't make much sense! ;)

Also, don't forget to check out Moments, a collection of shorts and 'deleted scenes' from Toriana and Cullen's saga!

Last but not least, please leave a comment if you like the story (or if you see something that needs to be worked on, I'm always open to constructive criticism!), it's much appreciated! :)

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><p>In a clearing a couple of miles west of Kirkwall, where the grass is thick and the trees are next to none, a cool autumn breeze with a hint of the cold winter to come blows, making the grass ripple like the surface of a lake. Though the sun is out, gray clouds on the horizon hint that rain is in the future and the air has a subtle nip to it. September it may be, but the world is already preparing for winter.<p>

Four horses of varying colors and sizes stand grazing on the edge of the clearing farthest from the dirt road, hobbled so they cannot run away. A pretty redhead in light leather armor and a black-haired man in heavy chainmail recline on the grass near the horses, talking quietly and occasionally reaching out to clasp their hands together before they separate again, casting shy looks at their other companions who they don't realize aren't paying any attention to them. A heavily-muscled man in intimidating black armor with short-cropped brown hair sits with his back against one of the very few trees around and stares at the peak of the Sundermount in the near distance, lost in whatever thoughts he may have. It is peaceful in the clearing, the murmuring of the man and woman beside each other and the crunch of the eating horses carried off with the low hum of the wind and the chirping of songbirds floating in the air all around them.

The gentle quiet is broken by a woman's irritated voice, "I _can't_ put my heel _down_ any more, for Andraste's sake! I already feel like my foot is about to break as it is!"

This is answered by a sigh, and then a voice that is deeper and just as irritated, but restrained into a semblance of calm, "I know it's hard, but you need to get the form right _now_ before you get moving, or at anything higher than a trot your feet will slide out.

The raven-haired woman with a noblewoman's carriage is seated atop a rather rotund buckskin gelding with creamy tan fur and a black mane and tail (and an incredibly patient look on its face) in the center of the clearing, looking as if she'd rather be nearly _anywhere_ but where she was. Her back is straight and stiff, her hands tight on the slack reins, and the tension is clear on her face as she scowls down at the man standing beside her horse.

The man in question, clad in heavy plate armor, has a head full of golden-edged dark auburn hair and a goatee that is only a shade darker. The expression on his face makes it clear that while he's sympathetic towards the woman, he's getting tired of her snappish replies. But still he stoically stands beside her horse, holding onto its bridle so it does not start moving and unbalance her. His other hand is resting against her booted calf to steady her, and though normally she would be thrown off by such contact, she is far too preoccupied with her anxiety at being on the back of a horse to notice.

Toriana's scowl transfers to the back of her horse's head as it shifts slightly in place, causing her to wobble precariously, and she tries once _again_ to bend her feet more so that her heels are further down and her toes are up, but all that does is send an aching pain rising up her shins. But apparently that's exactly what her instructor was looking for, because he nods and gives her what she imagines is meant to be an encouraging smile, but only turns out looking relieved, "That's it," he says in a low, but happy, voice as he removes his hand from her leg, "Now we'll try a slow walk."

She has no time to protest before he's begun walking backwards, leading the horse beside him and keeping a watchful eye on her in case she might show any signs of being about to fall. Toriana can feel the horse's spine shift and roll beneath her as it takes step after slow step, and she tries to grip harder with her legs but that only makes the horse whinny and take a jolting hop forward as if it wants to gallop, and she barely keeps her balance in her saddle.

"Don't squeeze too hard or he'll think you want him to go faster." _ That's what she said_, she thinks rather childishly as he speaks, "Just relax – if you're calm he'll feel it too and he'll move smoother. Right now he knows you're nervous and it's making him nervous." Cullen's voice is a gentle, encouraging thrum, but she still has to bite back a snippy reply of '_then he's a pretty stupid animal if he mirrors my every emotion without cause._' Her legs and feet are aching, and her form is _not _helping her keep balance one bit and she's beginning to suspect that Cullen only told her to put her legs in such a position to torture her.

Also, she hates horses.

"Don't grip the reins so tight," Cullen admonishes softly, and she tries to fix her hold on the leather strap, wondering _why in the hell_ it matters how hard she holds the reins when it shouldn't make a difference as long as they're not tugging on the horse's nose. Or muzzle, or whatever the hell it was called on a horse – she really didn't care to learn. But she keeps the thought to herself and tries to obey the ex-Templar's instructions, knowing that he's knowledgeable when it comes to horses (or at least seems so) and she should trust what he says.

Still, her legs _hurt_ and it's not helping her temper.

It's incredibly unpleasant to be atop a horse's back, separated only by a thick slab of leather and able to feel every undulation and roll of the creature's body beneath her. Momentarily Toriana wildly wonders why humans never bred giant Mabari to ride everywhere – they were by far much smarter, more loyal, and much more useful in a fight than a damned horse.

Did she mention she did not like horses one bit?

It was nearly two hours before Toriana could manage a swift trot, steering included, on the back of her gelding without falling off, and as she trots the horse around the clearing she feels rather triumphant – as if she'd just won some critical battle or something similarly monumental. It's a refreshing feeling. And the smile that Cullen gives her, proud and bright, sets off a fluttering in her chest that she tries to chalk up to relief that she hadn't died. Not for lack of attempts on the horse's part – despite its even temper it had thrown her off three times, and she had fallen out of her saddle four more times. Her back was sore and her wrist ached where she had fallen on it, but she felt _good_.

Cullen watched as Toriana rode in circles around him, and he felt a swell of pride rising in his chest. Teaching fresh young Templar recruits to fight and harness their talents was one thing, teaching the Hero of Ferelden – an independent and very capable mage – to conquer her anxiety and ride a horse was an entirely different, and far more exhilarating, thing. And the brilliant smile she shone with was just another pleasant outcome of the two hours of training.

Moiraine let out a little cheer from where she lay beside Carver and called out to Toriana, "Way to go, Commander! You look like a natural!"

This warrants an incredulous snort from Tori, but she still looks undeniably pleased.

Her horse shakes its mane and she leans forward, hands falling to the pommel of her saddle and looking a little nervous, "I think I might need a break before we move on," she mutters through stiff lips. She reins in to a stop and Cullen is immediately at her side, ready to help her down.

With a heave, one leg is over the horse's back, but Toriana underestimated the distance from stirrup to ground and begins a rapid, unbalanced descent. Cullen is there in a heartbeat, one hand on the small of her back and the other around her hand gripping the pommel of the saddle. Her feet hit the ground with a thud and she stumbles back into Cullen's chest, warranting a grunt from him and knocking the breath from her lungs.

There's a long moment where Toriana stays pressed against Cullen's armored chest, his hands still touching her even though there is no need to steady her any longer, and she can hardly breathe, her heart is speeding up and she can feel her whole body _warming_ as if she's near a fire.

Cullen can't move. Toriana is leaning against him and not pulling away, and his breath is catching in his chest because he can feel the heat of her back even through her armor, and the smell of her hair just below his nose is so sweet and pleasant that he vaguely wonders if that's just how she normally smells or if she uses a special soap for her hair, but either way it's wonderful…

And then the moment is over; Toriana pulls away with a light laugh as if nothing happened and she was laughing at her own clumsiness. Cullen can't help a sigh as she withdraws her hand from his and stumbles over to flop onto the grass not far from the other Wardens like a limp fish. He brings her horse over to the others and hobbles it before he sits on the grass equidistant from Toriana and the rest of the Wardens (he wants to stay closer to her, but he's nervous that she'll reject it).

Toriana looks almost like a child, lying on her back in the grass and smiling up at the partially cloudy sky as if she has hardly a care in the world. It's a refreshing change from the desolation of the last couple of weeks, and he can't keep the smile from his face as he watches her bury her fingers in the green blades on the ground and roll over onto her stomach to watch the other Wardens.

She sees Carver's hand sneak over to run his fingers along Moiraine's arm, and the redhead gives him a vibrant smile through her eyelashes. Toriana can't help but grin and lift an eyebrow at them, "You two are awfully close lately…" she trails off with a suggestive lilt to her words, and wants to laugh out loud when both of them freeze and look at her with wide eyes and red cheeks.

Moiraine is about to say something when Carver interjects, frowning, "I don't see how it's any of your business," he says in as stern a voice as she's ever heard him use.

Toriana shrugs and they both look surprised that she doesn't get angry, merely says in a mild voice, "I suppose you're right." And with a startlingly light smile she rolls back onto her back and continues to look at the clouds, feeling inexplicably _happy _and oblivious to her companions' bewildered looks. For some reason she felt… free. Freer than she'd felt in a long time.

It was a good feeling.

And today she had learned to ride a horse.

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><p><strong>A short first chapter, I know, I know. Next update will be within three days or so.<strong>


	2. The people we kill

**Author's Note:** Thanks for the reviews and the huge wave of alerts and favorites for this story! I'm so happy that you all are enjoying it enough to do so - you readers are wonderful! :)

I would say enjoy this update, but it's actually quite depressing, so... Hum. Sorry for the sadness in advance!

Also, as a random side note, I try to liken each nation of Ferelden to a real world medieval country; for example, I see Ferelden as Britain, Antiva as Spain (even though I've heard it's based on Italy, I think Spain fits better, and anyways you hear Antivans using Spanish words sometimes, so nyah ;) ), and Orlais as France. And I see Nevarra as Italy or Prussia (two very different nations, I know, but bear with me), so when there is Nevarran spoken in this chapter, imagine it as Italian ;)

Cullen speaking Italian... Now there's a sexy thought ;D

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><p>For the first night on the road, after having travelled a few miles in the daylight that remained after Toriana's horseback riding lesson (it was rather slow going because she was still very uncomfortable on top of a horse), the Wardens did not wear armor to sleep. Now that the darkspawn were no longer a problem, Toriana thought that being attacked in the night wouldn't be an issue, for surely humans would not attack a fully armed group of Grey Wardens; and so they erred on the side of comfort, stretching out under the leaves of trees with their armor stacked nearby.<p>

She sat keeping first watch while the others lay sleeping on their bedrolls, their faces cast into shadows by the small fire in the center of camp that was by the late hour more embers than flame. To keep her mind off of her dark thoughts, her memories of a sick young Templar and a noble Warden, she studied her sleeping companions. In sleep Moiraine looked like a child, hand curled under her chin and mouth slightly open. Carver and Mekel had their backs to her. Cullen was frowning in his sleep and muttering something, and though she wanted to run her hand over his forehead to sooth his unrest, she kept herself from doing so. They were familiar enough with each other as it was, they did not need more closeness – it would only lead to disaster.

They were encased on every side by trees now, having reached the Planasene Forest, and all about them was darkness. The horses were sleeping tied to some trees at the edge of the camp, but suddenly Aethelstan – such Cullen had named his bad-tempered black stallion, saying it meant 'noble,' to which Tori had snorted incredulously – lifted his head and let out a low whicker as he looked to the trees.

Toriana stiffened, lifting her staff from her lap and drawing her magic into her to be ready to fight whatever may have startled the horse. She knew there were wolves and bears in the forest, and with the fire slowly dying down they were likely considering prowling into the camp to snack on the horses.

But what broke through the trees all around them were not animals, but humans. Hollering a battle-cry in a language she did not understand, a group of near fifteen men tore into their camp with weapons drawn. She was on her feet in an instant, staff spreading out in an arc in front of her to guide the Cone of Cold, a deadly arc of icicle spikes that impaled three of the men before the others gathered themselves enough to go around.

Now there were frenzied, half terrified cries of some word that Toriana was guessing meant 'mage,' and all of them turned to lunge for her rather than dealing with her rapidly waking companions. Which was a mistake on the attackers' part, because as she dodged some blows and blocked others with her staff, throwing a head-sized fireball at one of the men, the other Wardens quickly dispatched the rest of them.

Toriana's pulse was racing as she stood surrounded by bodies, and Moiraine sent her a questioning frown, "Who were they?"

The Warden-Commander shook her head, "I don't know. Bandits, is my guess, but we should search the bodies." They had certainly been unorganized enough to be simple bandits, and hadn't had much in the way of fighting skills – not compared to the Wardens, at least – but it never hurt to be careful.

As Cullen went to calm the shrieking, stomping horses, the other Wardens began to go from body to body, looking for anything they could use or any hint that the men were more than bandits. Besides some dried food, Toriana didn't find anything of interest and was relieved.

"Commander… This one's still alive." Moiraine's voice was a soft, uneasy one from where she crouched over one of the men.

It was the man Tori had hit with the fireball; apparently her aim had been just a bit off. The fire had heated his armor to a dangerous level, burning through his clothes beneath and melting his skin to the inside of his breastplate. Apparently some of the flames had caught in facial hair of some sort, because the bottom half of his face was burned and mottled beyond recognition. It was a horribly painful thing, but not enough to kill him outright – a slow, painful death awaited him.

He was jerking and twitching on the ground, hands trying to pull at his breastplate but finding it too hot to touch, and now that the horses were no longer making much noise she could hear the agonized moans escaping his charred lips. When she felt guilt and horror begin to creep inside her veins, Toriana quickly pulled on her Commander mask and frowned calmly down at the man, trying to think of how she might save him.

The rest of the Wardens were standing around watching, now, but she put them from her mind as she put her hands inches above the steaming armor and sent out tendrils of healing magic into the man, simultaneously easing some of the pain from his mind and searching out all of the damage, looking to see if there was anything she could salvage. She pulled the heat from the armor with just a touch of ice, and started to repair the man one little bit at a time.

Thankfully none of the others spoke, leaving her in total concentration. By the time ten minutes had passed, Toriana had fixed the burns on his face, leaving behind only moderate scars, and had done what she could for the rest of him. But his skin remained melded to his armor, and now more than ever she wished Wynne were here. Wynne would know how to fix this…

"I can't separate his skin from his armor," Toriana sighed, wiping a weary hand across her sweaty brow and staring at the man, who was now panting shallow breaths and looking wildly at them all as if he expected them to attack him at any moment. From here, even with the burns, she could tell he was very young – no older than twenty, she would guess – and had been handsome before this disaster. Thick black hair was kept only a bit shorter than Cullen's, and his eyes were beautifully almond-shaped and a light brown, striking above his high cheekbones. He looked horribly underfed, however, judging by his gaunt look and thin arms.

The man started babbling in that same foreign language and Toriana shook her head at him helplessly, not understanding. "Is that Nevarran? I have no idea what he's saying."

"Something involving magic," Cullen interjected from where he was standing opposite Tori, brow furrowed as he looked down at the injured man. "I learned Nevarran when I came to Kirkwall, but he's talking too fast, I can't…" He said something clumsily in Nevarran and the man stopped, tilting his head to look at Cullen before he spoke again, this time slower.

Cullen listened, his face darkening with every word, and when Toriana gave him a questioning look he translated. "He says… he begs us to have mercy, says that they should have never attacked a… a witch?" this warrants a frown from him before he continues, "A user of evil magic, that's what it means, the closest translation we have is 'witch,' or..." His glance at Tori was slightly apologetic and she waved at him to continue, uncaring if the man thought she was a blood mage.

"He's saying something about food, about… starving. My Nevarran is not exactly in top shape… I think he's saying that they were starving, he mentions a child—not his child, his brother's, I think. The child is hungry—"

"And they attacked us in the hopes of getting food for the starving child?" Toriana interjects incredulously. She could count on both hands how many times she had heard that story from captured attackers, and she would run out of fingers. "What a touching story," she says in a wry voice, giving the man a disbelieving look, "You can tell him he doesn't need to make up awful lies like that, I don't intend on killing him after making the effort to keep him alive."

Cullen frowns more, his eyes troubled, and doesn't translate her words. "I don't know… You don't think he could be telling the truth? These men do look a bit…"

"Starved," Moiraine fills in, her green eyes just as troubled.

There's a moment of solemn silence, broken by the man's sudden cry of despair. He rolled onto his belly and crawled over to one of the dead men, his noises of pain as the breastplate tore his skin nothing compared to the heart-wrenching sob that left his throat. The dead man was on his back, gaping hole in his chest, staring sightlessly up into the dark sky with light brown almond-shaped eyes, his thick black hair pulled back into a ponytail and his high cheekbones making his sunken cheeks even more pronounced. As the injured man ignored his pain and pulled the dead one that looked so much like him into his arms, crying openly and rocking back and forth, the weight of his grief so heavy that he gave no notice of the Wardens, Toriana realized with a drop of her heart that the man's story was true. That was his brother.

The other Wardens looked varying levels of sick or horrified as they came to the same realization. The silence in the camp was only filled by the man's agonized sobs, his cries of what Tori assumed was his brother's name. Beneath her Commander mask, she was horrified. She knew they had attacked first, that the Wardens had only been defending themselves, but still the guilt at knowing that they had killed starving men desperately trying to feed their families was crushing.

Toriana kept her mask about her, though, and took a step towards the man, glancing at Cullen, "I need you to explain to him that I cannot separate his breastplate from his skin, and he needs to be very careful not to tear it off or he could die." She can hear her voice, unfeeling and distant, such a harsh contrast to how she feels inside, but she finds solace in it. She is the Warden-Commander; she's killed hundreds of men before. Knowing the story of two of them does not make a difference. _Should_ not.

Cullen speaks to the man, his voice low and concerned, in his heavily Fereldan-accented Nevarran. There's a moment where the man is silent save for his now mostly quiet, body-wracking sobs, and she wonders if he even heard Cullen's words.

Then he lifted his head and turned to look at Toriana with a burning hatred twisting his scarred face, and there was no warning before he was clambering painfully to his feet and drawing a dagger from his belt, lunging at her with clear intent to slit her throat. There was a suspended moment where Tori froze, her magic bubbling at her fingertips, and was unable to cast a spell to stop the man. She imagined him before she had burned him, smiling and holding his brother's child in his arms, and she couldn't attack him again. Her self-preservation instincts – her Commander side – screamed at her to stop him, but that vulnerable, utterly Toriana side of her couldn't. She just couldn't.

Cullen saw the Nevarran lurch to his feet, he saw the obvious pain in the way his arms trembled violently and his forehead creased, and he saw the blackness in the man's eyes that he knew all too well: hatred. When the man pulled out a dagger that they had foolishly not taken from him and charged at Toriana, Cullen felt a clawing in his chest, telling him to protect her. Without a thought his sword was in his hand and he held it out across the man's path.

The man stopped, but did not give up as Cullen had hoped; he shifted his grip on his dagger and threw it at Toriana with a skewed accuracy because of his injury. The man barely had the time to let out a shout of triumph as the blade sunk into her shoulder before Cullen's sword was through his chest.

As the Nevarran dropped to the ground with one last sigh before death, Toriana looked down at the hilt sticking out of her shoulder numbly. Cullen dropped his bloody sword and was at her side in an instant, followed by Moiraine, and she pulled the Warden-Commander mask back on to cover her inner turmoil, her guilt and horror and sorrow. "I'm fine," she growled, wrapping her hand around the hilt and wrenching it out, managing to bite her lip as she fought back a curse of pain.

Cullen gives her a look that says he doesn't think she's fine, but she ignores it and puts a glowing hand over the rapidly bleeding wound, letting her own magic pour through her and knit parted flesh back together. Moiraine frets around her, asking if she'll need any herbs to help with blood loss, or perhaps some tea to calm her? Toriana shakes her head and waves her off, "I'm _fine_," she repeats, more firmly. But she's not fine.

She can't get the image of the Nevarran man, holding his brother and sobbing with all the grief in the world, out of her head. Even as she straightens and tells her fellow Wardens to gather the bodies on the fire to burn them, she knows it's an image that will haunt her forever.

The people she kills stay with her always.

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><p><strong>Next update will be within a week. I'm returning to America on Tuesday, so I'll be very busy and won't be able to update until after I get home and settle in again.<strong>


	3. The things we mourn

**Author's Note: **Sooo, I got really sucked in to my writing and managed to finish this chapter way ahead of time. The next chapter, which will most likely be much shorter than this, cannot be finished tonight because I have to wake up SUPER early tomorrow morning to catch my plane (I will miss Germany, but I am **so** excited to see my niece and my cat again... I missed them!). I will likely post the next update by Wednesday.

Please don't hate me for the cliffhanger that is to come. I'll try my hardest to get the next chapter out as soon as I can, I promise! Because I love you guys ;)

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><p>The stench of burning bodies is one that sticks in one's nose, a combination of burning hair and boiling blood and melting flesh that is inescapable; the smoke from the burning is oily and full of a feeling of <em>wrongness<em>. The bandits' bodies are neatly stacked and the magically-started fire has taken a life of its own now as it eats away at flesh and bone, rising to dance against the sky in a sick mockery of merriment.

The camp is full of an eerie orange glow, surrounded by darkness that presses in on the clearing as surely as it presses on the hearts of the Wardens occupying the camp. Toriana is bent over her shirt, having somehow managed to get in her armor and then slip out of the shirt without removing her breastplate (Cullen is _still_ confused as to how she pulled it off), and sewing the hole the Nevarran's dagger had made with uneven stitches. Cullen can see her hand trembling ever-so-slightly, watches as she stabs herself with the needle and swears, putting her finger in her mouth momentarily before returning to work. He swallows and looks away, trying not to focus on that undeniably sensual image that is now stuck in his mind of her sucking on her finger.

Moiraine is curled up on the edge of the camp near the horses, hugging her knees together and staring unblinkingly at the fire while Carver sits beside her and rubs his hand up and down her back to comfort her. Mekel is sitting on the ground wiping down his sword and armor, not looking as bothered as the others were – but then again, he had been a mercenary who killed people for a living no matter what their 'story' was, so Cullen wasn't too surprised at his hardness.

Cullen sighed and patted Aethelstan's neck before once again going through and checking all of the fastenings and buckles on all of the horses, just to pass the time and to keep his mind off his own thoughts. He felt a strange mix of guilt and self-assuredness that he had done the right thing. The Nevarran had attacked Tori, after all, even after she had healed him despite his group's attack on the Wardens; in his mind that justified his killing the man, for he had been given a second chance and had ruined it. Rather his guilt was for the now uncle- and father-less child out there, for the woman that now had to raise the child alone and apparently starving.

It was not a pleasant thought.

He could tell that Toriana was harshly affected by the events of the night, as much as she tried to act as if she were fine, as much as she painted her face with an emotionless mask he could see the pain in her eyes. He didn't know what to do, what to say, that wouldn't only make it accidentally worse, and so he busied himself with the horses until they would be ready to move on again. They wouldn't be staying in this camp for the rest of the night, where the stench of death and burning flesh was overpowering.

. . . . .

Toriana was terrible at sewing.

In the Circle Tower, she had not bothered to learn to sew, thinking it a pointless skill when she would likely live in the Tower her whole life where servants could tend to such things and she could spend her energy on more interesting and useful things. And there was something that felt so utterly _senseless_ in sewing, something droll noblewomen did to busy their hands as they gossiped with their peers, that turned her off of the skill.

Now she regretted not learning as she held up her shirt to the light (trying not to think of what was fueling that light and causing the suffocating odor in the air) and frowned at the way the bloodstained fabric puckered and pulled unevenly around the stitched-up hole. "Shit."

But she didn't have the patience or the energy to undo her work and try again. The fire was starting to die down, now low enough that it could be safely left behind without fear of starting a forest fire, and everyone was both ready and anxious to go. This camp held dark revelations and insurmountable guilt.

Toriana snuck a few feet into the trees, just enough so she was hidden from view, and removed her breastplate to pull on her shirt before replacing it. When she came back Cullen had already untied the horses and the others were taking their own mounts' reins into their hands. Casting one last, dark look at the fire, she picked up her staff from the ground and retrieved her gelding's reins before turning and leading her Wardens away, not once looking back.

She was exhausted, Cullen could tell. She hadn't slept at all that night, having taken the first watch, and he knew that healing made her tired – it made all mages tired, he had seen as much in the Circle. The strange wisp of light she summoned circled around her head – dim, but light enough to show her the path before them. As she kept her head down at the front of the group, checking the path to make sure it was safe for the horses, he saw her stumble a few times over her own feet and he knew just how drained she was because she actually looped her hand through one of the straps on her horse's saddle for stability, her nervousness around the beast forgotten. But still she kept going, kept walking on at a steady pace, as if there were demons on her trail. And when he caught the now all-too-familiar 'empty' expression on her face, he thought that perhaps there were, not those of the Fade but those of the heart.

They walked for hours in silence, save for Toriana's occasional warning that there was a hole in the path, or something else they had to walk their horses around. It was about an hour after daybreak when Toriana nearly fell and could hardly pull herself back to her feet. Only one night's rest after who knows how many days in the Deep Roads with no sleep, compounded with the weakness of healing and the emotional stress she had gone through lately, was clearly taking its toll on her. The shadows under her eyes were painful to look at, the glazed look in those fatigued brown orbs constricting his chest with concern.

As she struggled to pull herself back upright, throwing most of her weight onto her horse's saddle (which the horse did not like _one_ bit, but bore with astounding patience), Moiraine spoke before Cullen could bring himself to. "Commander, I think we should stop somewhere so you can get some rest."

Toriana finally managed to stand up (mostly) on her own and shook her head, not even bothering to waste the energy to look over her shoulder, "We can't afford to make camp every time I stumble a bit or we'll never make it to the Vigil before winter hits hardest." Her voice was scornful, sounding more frustrated with herself more than anything, and Cullen had to repress a sigh of exasperation at her mulishness. She looked up at the sky, "At any rate, it's light enough now that we can ride without risking the horses."

Without waiting to hear any further argument (for Moiraine was muttering aggravatedly about how she would run herself into the ground at this rate), Tori heaved herself only half-successfully up into her horse's saddle. After a few moments of scrambling and twisting (which her horse endured with admirable tenacity), she managed to get herself upright – if a bit slumped over – and waited patiently for the others to mount.

Toriana managed an hour of riding before she fell asleep in her saddle, chin dropped onto her chest, and fell off her horse. She awoke with a start midair but it was too late to save herself and she landed on her back on the ground with a loud 'thud!'

"Commander, I think you should ride with one of us, you can't ride yourself anymore." Moiraine's voice was surprisingly stern, considering she was speaking to a woman who was her senior in both rank and age.

Toriana looked about to protest as she pushed herself to her feet, but instead gave in with a sigh, "Fine, I guess you're right."

There was a moment of silence where everyone turned to look at Cullen expectantly (except Tori, who was rubbing her face tiredly and not paying attention at all) and he swallowed nervously, thinking he had an idea of what they wanted…

"Cullen, your horse is the biggest of all of ours. It's strong enough to carry both of you, right?" Moiraine asked, and he thought for a moment that her voice sounded just a _bit_ too innocent to truly be so.

The redhead gave him a bright smile, nodding, and he swallowed again, "Yes," was all he managed to get out.

Toriana was frowning, blinking blearily at the horses, but she truly must have been exhausted because she sighed again and – without argument – handed her horse's lead off to Moiraine and lifted her hand to Cullen. When he just stared at her, stunned by her compliance, she scowled at him and Aethelstan, "Well come on, then, I can't climb onto that Maker-forsaken monster on my own."

. . . . .

_This has to be a dream._

Toriana was sitting in front of him on his horse, asleep, and her head had fallen back against his shoulder, tilted so that her breath ghosted across his neck from her slightly open mouth, sending shivers down his spine and blood rushing south. His arms were under hers, one wrapped around her middle and the other gripping the reins far too tightly. The uncomfortable pressure below his waist was _not_ being helped one bit by the fact that riding a horse made one's hips move in a way that was reminiscent of sex.

He was just grateful that their armor kept a few inches between them so she couldn't feel just how crazy it was driving him to have her so close that he could smell that beautiful scent in her hair, feel the sweep of her hair (which was incredibly _soft_ and made him want to bury his fingers in it again, like he had done that night in Kirkwall when he'd kissed her) against his collarbone. He was glad Moiraine had taken the lead in their group and Aethelstan was all too glad to follow the only mare in their troupe without any guidance from Cullen, because he couldn't focus on anything except Toriana right now.

The ride was largely uneventful, save for once when a large stag had jumped across their path followed by three does. Moiraine seemed to have gotten back her usual good mood and was chatting quietly with Carver, careful not to disturb their sleeping Commander.

Toriana let out a sigh and shifted in Cullen's arms so that now her head was nestled under his neck, and he tightened his grip around her, trying to think as saintly thoughts as he could (they had trained Templars how to conquer their base urges, but at the moment he just couldn't think of the mental tactics he had learned in training…) while at the same time trying to enjoy the feel of her in his arms. It just felt… right. And that wasn't the sex-starved part of him talking; this was beyond a physical enjoyment, had ventured into something more close to his heart.

He glanced at Moiraine and Carver; they seemed as if they were together now, assuredly, and he wondered if there were no rules in the Grey Wardens about fraternization between members… Cullen looked down at Toriana, who had begun to softly snore (and rather than being an irritating noise, he found it strangely endearing), and thought that maybe he would ask Moiraine about it sometime.

Because he wasn't a Templar anymore, difficult as that realization was, and that meant that their rules no longer applied to him. If he wanted, he could get married, settle down, have children…

And he couldn't help but think that, compared to being a Templar, it was good being a Grey Warden.

. . . . .

Toriana awoke sometime during midday when the sun began beating down on her face, but she didn't open her eyes or stir at first. She knew she was in Cullen's arms. She could feel his chin just above her head, brushing it when the horse took an uneven step, and his arm around her keeping her in place. It was oddly comforting, and she was reminded once again of the lion watching over her. _Her_ lion.

But the others were beginning to discuss stopping for a meal and she couldn't pretend to be asleep any longer. Sucking in a deep breath, she pulled away from Cullen and straightened with a yawn.

"Oh, good morning Commander!" Moiraine chirped with a radiant smile as Carver and Mekel nodded in acknowledgement. Tori smiled back, finding that now she had rested, and with the other woman's contagious brightness, the darkness of the night before was gone, pushed in the back of her mind to be dealt with later. "We were just going to stop for a meal, you've got good timing."

As they pulled the horses over where there was a fallen tree they could sit on, Tori became aware that Cullen hadn't said a word. He dismounted with more grace than she'd have thought possible, considering how tall his horse was and how heavy his armor, then held a hand out to help her down, meeting her eyes for a second before he looked away with a flush rising in his cheeks. She raised her eyebrows at him, wondering at this renewed bout of shyness, but said nothing as she accepted his hand and slid off the horse, managing to not stumble this time (a small victory in her mind). He dropped her hand as soon she was steady, as if he had been burned, and turned away without a word.

The meal was short and simple, rations of dried beef and bread, and was punctuated by Moiraine's chattering about Orlais and how excited she was that they would be travelling through it. Her talking didn't stop as they finished eating and climbed onto their horses (Toriana on her own; she had enough energy to ride alone now), and continued on for a good hour until she seemed to tire of the subject and quieted.

A few hours past midday, rain came suddenly and with little warning as gray clouds blew rapidly across the sun and a downpour started. Toriana swore as she was soaked through in seconds, peering through the gloom to try to find a good place to set up an early camp. It was a few minutes before she spotted not far off the road a cluster of huge willow trees with broadly sweeping branches that would be perfect to set up tents under.

Thankfully it was only a little damp under the trees, which were tall enough for even the horses to stand under comfortably. They tied back some of the dangling branches between two of the trees to create a sort of doorway between the space under the two trees, allowing them more room to set up their tents. Moiraine looked around the dome-like structures with an expression of wonder on her face, "What kind of trees are these? I don't think I've ever seen such things before."

Toriana smiled and looked up at her from where she had just finished removing her armor and pitching her tent, "They're willow trees of some sort, we have some near Lake Calenhad of a slightly different variety, they're quite wonderful." She stood and ran one of the rope-like branches through her fingers, "There are many stories about willows. I remember once, Pater told me—" she broke off suddenly, looking stricken.

The other Wardens shifted uncomfortably from their various places around their camp, and Moiraine took a hesitant step forward, lifting her hand as if to put it on Tori's shoulder, "Commander—"

"I'm going to go… go find a place to wash up," Toriana interrupted, not wanting to hear the redhead's sympathies, grabbing a shift and a comb from her pack before turning and leaving their camp. No one made a move to stop her. She felt like her chest was being constricted, and already there was the tightness in her throat that signaled the incoming of tears.

Out from under the sanctuary of the willow trees, she was soaked in seconds, her hair sticking to her head and clothes clinging to her body. The rain was cold and before she even found the river (she had known there would be water, willows trees always grew near water) she was trembling, but she was glad for the temporary distraction of the cold from her thoughts. All she could see was Pater's half-crushed body; all she could hear was his voice as he asked her to end his life.

Toriana peeled off all her clothes, safe in the knowledge that she had privacy because the rain was so thick it was hard to see much at all, and pulled her nightshift (privacy or no, she wasn't going to wash completely naked) over her head before she jumped – perhaps a bit recklessly without having checked the current or the depth when she didn't know how to swim – into the river. The shock of the cold took her breath away for a moment and she stood gasping and shaking in water up to her elbows for a full minute before she was used to it enough to move and begin washing herself with her hands. She was lucky the current wasn't quite strong enough to pull her downstream.

Pater's weakened voice echoed in her ears, broken by his shallow, rattling breaths.

'_You are... the daughter I never had, Toriana... And I am... so proud._'

The sobs that wracked her body were uncontrolled and uncontained, stealing the breath from her lungs and the strength from her chest. There, alone in a river in the middle of the forest, Toriana finally let out her grief for the father figure and good friend she had lost, arms wrapped futilely around her as if that would somehow be a comfort.

Unbidden, she also thought of Irving, who had once been a father to her as well. She thought of her real father, of whom she only remembered the feel of his arms around her. She thought of everyone she had ever lost in her life. Rabbit, her faithful, loyal, playful mabari who had died protecting her from darkspawn. Jowan, her first ever best friend, who she had lost to his bad choices and her own blindness. Anseau, her Orlesian Grey Warden lover who had been killed by darkspawn. Mhairi, killed by the Joining. Leliana, Zevran, Wynne, Sten, Anders, Justice, Sigrun, friends all gone because circumstance and different paths in life led them away from her. And Alistair.

She had never felt so alone in her life.

When finally her sobs subsided and she couldn't take the freezing water any longer, Toriana dragged herself up onto the grassy banks and sat watching the water unseeing, arms around knees drawn up to her chest and all of her face but her reddened eyes pressed against her legs. Her thoughts were dark, miserable, spiraling lower and lower until she wasn't sure she would be able to pull herself out of the abyss she had fallen into. Her whole body felt sore, her eyes burned, and she wanted to sit where she was and never, ever move again.

. . . . .

Toriana had been gone for a very long time.

There was no way washing could take an hour. Cullen couldn't focus on cleaning his armor, not when he knew that she was out there and any matter of things could have befallen her without her armor or her staff to protect her. He knew she was a strong woman, capable of defending herself, but with nothing but the clothes on her back he couldn't help but think she was horribly vulnerable.

He couldn't take it anymore, couldn't take the worrying and not knowing. He stood wordlessly, leaving his armor behind but taking his sword just in case, and went out in search of her.

Cullen found her, though if he hadn't been looking carefully through the rain he likely would have missed her curled up on the bank of a river in only a – _oh Maker help him_, she was only wearing a thin white shift that he could _clearly_ see through now that it was wet, and with her legs pulled up like that it was only barely covering her—

His thoughts stopped when he saw her eyes. Toriana was crying.

Or rather, he wasn't sure if she was crying now, but it was clear from how red and swollen they were that she _had_ been crying. A lot. And those big brown eyes had such a wretched, broken look in them that made him drop his sword and fall to his knees at her side with hardly a glance at her mostly-bare legs. "Toriana," he called to her just loud enough to be heard over the rain. She didn't move save for her eyes, which glanced over at him blankly and then back to the river as if he weren't there at all. "Are you alright?"

A stupid question, when she so obviously wasn't. Her face crumpled and she buried her whole face in her knees, a weak trembling in her shoulders evidence that she was crying. He didn't know what to do, didn't know how to make her feel better. All he knew was that he didn't want her to cry, didn't want her to be miserable like this; he wanted her to be happy. But he knew only one way to comfort someone who was crying (certainly not from experience, but from watching others).

Faintly hoping that she wouldn't attack him for doing so, Cullen reached out and wrapped an arm around Toriana's bare shoulders, wincing at how cold she felt. She didn't resist, didn't push him away and speak harshly to him as he had half expected; she must have been out of her mind with misery, because instead she leaned against him and buried her face in his chest, shaking as violently as a leaf in the wind. She stayed that way for many minutes until she had stopped crying and was merely trembling with cold.

And then she pulled away from him ever-so-slightly and kissed him.

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><p><strong>Update Wednesday. Try not to hate me too much until then ;)<strong>


	4. The things we do

**Author's Note: **I need to first say that I am so **so** sorry that I didn't update when I said I would! When I got back to the US, my friends kidnapped me for several days, and I suffered some serious jet lag (I slept for 16 hours straight... ugh) before getting _sick_, which is where I am now. Sick. Bleh.

But anyways, I didn't put this note here to complain, I just wanted to tell you all that I'm sorry and I didn't willingly abandon you guys. But I will be utterly busy for the next week, so don't expect the next update for a week or so.

Also, this chapter is _very_ not safe for work. You have been warned ;)

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><p>Toriana was sick of being miserable. She was sick of being alone, of mourning everything she'd lost. She wanted to feel something – anything – that wasn't pain, and in that moment of weakness, of need, she turned to Cullen. And perhaps she was making a big mistake, perhaps she would regret this after the fact, but right now she didn't care one bit. She emptied her mind of her sorrow and pain, of her nervousness and doubts, and thought only of the man in her arms.<p>

Though her body was cold, her mouth was hot. She tasted the same as she had that night in Kirkwall, minus the flavor of ale, and smelled like her scent and rainwater. One of her hands was trailing through the hair at the back of Cullen's neck, the other grasping at the shirt on his back, and she pressed her entire body against him as if he was the only thing keeping her on earth.

And oh, _Maker_, she was quickly warming up against him, her soft curves fitting against his solid chest as if they were made for each other. He couldn't think, couldn't find the state of mind to pull back and ask why she was suddenly doing this, because when he buried his hand in her wet hair she moaned against his mouth and it was all he could do to keep control over himself.

It was everything he had imagined, and at the same time so much more. She was more experienced than him, he could tell easily by the commanding way she pressed her hips against his and nibbled on his lip. And those noises coming from her! The moans and half-whimpers and gasps, they went into his ears and then straight down, fueling his desire for her in a way that made him feel like some wild animal, groaning and pulling slightly on her hair to tilt her head back so he could taste the skin on her neck.

It was working. Toriana's plan was working. With Cullen's lips brushing against her neck she was no longer miserable, she no longer thought of Pater and Tomas and everyone else. She only thought of the feelings he was awakening in her, the heat between her legs that throbbed achingly when he gently bit her just above her collarbone.

She snaked her hand down his chest to rub along his insistent erection over his pants and was rewarded when his breath became labored and his kisses along her neck slowed. And then she untied the ties to his pants and slipped her hand inside to grasp him, unable to help her smile when he stopped tasting her skin and let out a strangled gasp, his fingers tightening in her hair as he groaned into her neck. The sound sent delighted thrills of arousal down her spine.

He couldn't breath. _Maker_, he couldn't breathe with her hand around him so firmly and stroking in _just_ the right way to make his hips jerk. He gasped against her neck as she touched him, unable to think of anything but the feel of her hand, the breeze of her breath on his neck, the smell of her filling his nose. He wasn't even conscious of the rain still falling on them, dripping from their hair and soaking into their clothes. Then she was pulling his chin up with her free hand and kissing him with an intensity that both surprised and aroused him, and when his fingers found one of her nipples and gently squeezed she moaned into his mouth and her hand tightened around him, eliciting a mirroring sound of pleasure from him.

Now she was wrapping one arm around his shoulders and pulling him down to the ground on top of her, and he was being carried away too quickly by a river of pleasure and desire to stop and think about what he was doing, to question whether or not it was a good idea to be doing it. She was hot beneath him, her hand guiding him so he was pressing against her entrance, and _Maker help him_ this was so different than his only other sexual experience at the Blooming Rose because Toriana was twisting and burning and gasping for him in a way that the lady he had been with hadn't. Where the prostitute had been businesslike and distant, pulling out a lubricating oil that had felt cold on his skin, Toriana was passionate and excited, her natural wetness warm and inviting and utterly arousing because he knew it was for _him_.

Cullen didn't even have any time to doubt himself, to panic that he wasn't experienced enough for this, to think that he would do something wrong and ruin everything, because she was lifting her hips up to him and he was instinctively pressing down to meet her. She was slick and tight around him, and he felt a spike of pleasure shoot through his body that made him nearly lose control and end it all before it truly began. But the discipline of a Templar life was useful, and he regained control over himself and began sliding in and out in a smooth, steady pace.

Toriana couldn't help the moan that escaped her mouth as he pushed inside of her, the feeling both invasive and wholly satisfying at the same time as he filled her completely and began the rhythm set by nature since the dawn of life. She could feel the heat building, coiling inside of her faster than she had ever before experienced, but it wasn't enough. There was something restrained in the way he was moving at such an even pace, as if he was holding himself back. That had to change. She wanted all of him, and she wanted him _now_.

When she wrapped her legs firmly around him, dug her fingernails into his back, pressed her mouth to his ear and whispered in a breathless, throaty voice, "Faster," all of his control was shattered. He thrust faster, feeling the heady pressure in his stomach build as he moved, egged on by the loud noises she was making, no longer muffled by his kisses. She was grasping him tighter, her fingernails biting his skin and her legs sliding up his waist so he could bury himself deeper, even deeper inside of her.

And then she was arching against him, crying out in release as she spasmed and tightened around him. He had already been teetering on the edge precariously, and now he was pushed over, his entire body flooding with the overwhelming feeling of an orgasm as he emptied inside of her, calling her name in a rush of pleasure and passion.

Toriana couldn't move at first, and it had nothing to do with Cullen's weight pressing comfortably down on top of her. Her muscles had turned to jelly, her mind still swimming and tingling with the aftereffects of her orgasm, and so she just lay there calmly beneath him, panting, as he pressed breathless kisses to her neck.

But inside she was experiencing battling feelings of happiness, regret, guilt… and something she was terrified to name. When he had called out her name, and now as he gently trailed kisses up her neck towards her mouth, she had had a rush of feeling. A feeling she had felt with Alistair, only so much stronger, more forceful and tangled with other feelings that she just couldn't sort out.

Thoughts of Alistair sent a crippling wave of guilt crashing over her, and before Cullen's lips could find her own she was pulling away, trying to wriggle her way out from beneath him. He looked confused, but he pulled back and let her get up, watching silently as she pulled her shift back down to cover herself before she – without sending one word or one glance his way – turned and walked unsteadily away with one thought in her mind.

What had she _done_?


	5. The things we regret

**Author's Note:** I am not dead! Hooray! I apologize this took so long to write and get up, my dear readers, but I've been scrambling between friends' computers trying to find a way to get my writing uploaded! (not to mention my new jobs, etc. have been keeping me extremely busy with little time or energy for writing - yes, it does take a lot of energy!) Until I have a reliable computer (still haven't gotten mine fixed or gotten a new one), expect an update perhaps once a month, maybe even less frequently. I will try my best to update sooner, but I don't want to make any promises I can't keep!

As for this chapter, it's a lot of filler, I'm so sorry, and if it sounds different from my other writing... that's because it is! Not writing for a while makes me loose my 'writer's voice', as I call it, and since I've been reading a lot of books lately I tend to take on the characteristics of whatever author I've most recently enjoyed. So if you don't like the writing style in this one... Blame Robin McKinley xD Just kidding! But really, I hope I'll get back in the flow once I've written the next chapter... we'll see. Let me know if it's really bothering you so I can know if I should, err, stop reading books when I want to write, haha.

Thanks for the support, everyone! :)

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><p>The walk back to camp was like a walk of shame. Stumbling and half-dazed, ridden with guilt, Toriana didn't realize until she was standing just outside the curtain of willow branches that she had forgotten her more decent clothes on the bank of the river. She couldn't go back for them, not now, not when there was a chance of running into <em>him<em> again. She couldn't take it, couldn't take seeing his expression after what she had done.

She hated herself for it. Not only had she betrayed Alistair with that act, but she had likely hurt a man who was just starting to be her friend – a man who had once confessed his attraction for her, who had been tortured with her likeness by blood mages. She had lain with him like some cheap-thrills woman, and then had run, leaving behind her self-respect and a man who was likely confused and hurt.

She had betrayed Alistair, her one love. It felt like an act of betrayal, not because she'd had sex with another man – with Zevran and Anseau it hadn't felt like betrayal because had been just that: sex, a physical need that they quenched – but because when Cullen had called out her name with such a rush of passion, when he'd gently trailed kisses along her neck afterwards, and when she remembered the tender care with which he'd comforted her as she cried, she'd felt something stirring in her heart that was meant only for Alistair. _Should_ only be meant for Alistair. And she felt as if she was betraying him because of that, because of that powerful thing she had felt.

She hated herself for it, and she hated herself for wanting it again.

When Toriana stepped into camp, even with her attempts at being silent the other Wardens – playing cards on the ground – looked at her with varying levels of surprise. Mekel only looked faintly amused, as if he knew what had happened, before returning his gaze to his cards. Moiraine and Carver, however, stared at her translucent dress with wide eyes, and Carver quickly looked away with a red face. Before any of them could speak, Toriana was climbing wordlessly into her tent.

She didn't come out for the rest of the night. Even when she heard Cullen returning to the camp a while after her, she shut her mouth and willed him not to try to visit her as she heard his footsteps nearing her tent. But there was only a rustling of cloth outside the tent's door flap, and then his footsteps were moving away. For some reason, she felt sad at that.

The night was plagued with dreams of Alistair, his green eyes betrayed and accusing. He kept asking her why she'd forgotten him, and she could only protest and plead, swearing she could never forget him, would never replace him. But each time she tried to explain, to tell him she had been heartbroken and foolish, that Cullen had simply caught her at a weak time, Alistair changed into Cullen, who looked at her in anguish, and she could not continue. She could only curl up silently on the ground and try to hide from that look, from that pain, from her guilt.

When she awoke, Toriana had new resolve. She couldn't allow this to go on. She would be professional, be the Warden-Commander, and would end this ill-pursued affair with a business-like air. She and Cullen could still remain friends, though she knew it would be horrendously awkward at first, knowing his tendency towards shyness and stuttering, but it was still a possibility. But what had happened the day before could not happen again, she decided.

Toriana peeked out of her tent and was surprised to see her clothes from the day before folded neatly outside. A twinge of guilt ran through her again as she grabbed the clothes and retreated to dress herself in those clothes and then her armor. Cullen had brought her clothes, even after she'd left him there with no explanation, no warning…

She tried not to think about how she felt about that.

When she finally could not put off going outside her tent any longer – she could only adjust her armor and check her hair in its tight bun so many times before it began to clearly become avoidance – Toriana emerged silently, her face in its expressionless Commander mask. All the others save for Cullen were outside, passing around a slim breakfast of dried bread and small hunks of cheese, as they were already ready to depart. When they saw her, they said good morning, but upon seeing the hard aloofness in her eyes and sensing the air about her, did not ask any questions. She took down her tent and bundled her things before she quietly joined them, eating quickly before going to load her things on her horse's saddle.

Toriana could hear the equally subdued greetings as Cullen emerged from his tent, but refused to look. She was being childish, she knew, but she wasn't sure she could look at him right at that moment without losing her self-control and showing her shame blatantly on her face. Her usual apprehension of the beasts forgotten in her desire to avoid Cullen, Toriana tightened the straps on her horse's saddle and adjusted the baggage on it so it was evenly placed.

Finally she turned back to face her Grey Wardens, her face inscrutable. "Let's head out," she said firmly, not meeting anyone's eyes before she grabbed her horse's halter and led him out of the shelter of the willow trees, followed momentarily by the others.

Normally when she mounted her horse, Cullen stood holding its bridle (she still wasn't terribly good at it, and even her placid horse began to prance as she tried scrambling onto its broad back alone), but before he could take his normal place at its head, she pulled herself – with much trouble and stamping of hooves and bit-chewing on the horse's part – onto her gelding's back.

She didn't look at Cullen once.

That day's ride was uneventful, following the dirt road through the forest, and Moiraine managed to maintain a conversation with Carver and Mekel. None of them tried speaking to their Commander or the newest Warden, sensing the tension between them. Not once did Cullen try pulling his horse up to walk beside Toriana's, and not once did she fall back to speak with him. The tension was as palpable as if it were a bear lumbering in their midst.

Toriana finally found a camp for them to stop for the night (they had eaten their lunch in the saddle) in a small clearing beside the road. Her entire body ached, she could feel herself starting to get saddle sores, and her eyes were bleary with tiredness. Riding a horse all day took much effort when one was so inexperienced. So when she attempted to dismount all she truly managed was to slide off her horse's side and stumble a few feet when she hit the ground. This time Cullen wasn't there to catch her.

Her horse chewed its bit and tossed its mane, displeased with her lack of skills, and she scowled at it, "Don't you start," she muttered threateningly, "You overgrown pig." This struck her as oddly amusing, and she stuck her tongue out at the animal, "That'll be your name, then. Pig."

Toriana had a tendency to name her pets after other animals.

Pig didn't seem to care one way or another what his name was, but seemed to be pleased when she removed his bridle and he was allowed to graze while she tethered him and removed her bags.

_Stupid horses._

Setting up camp was a silent affair, and Toriana made sure to put up her tent as far from Cullen's as possible – to give him space, she told herself. But that cruelly honest little part of her whispered that it was to protect herself, so she wouldn't constantly have to look in the face of the man she'd hurt and be tempted to comfort. She promptly (in her mind) told the voice to shut up and didn't bother announcing that she was going to gather firewood for their small fire. The other Wardens would guess what she was doing and leave her be.

Of course, by the time she returned to the camp, her treacherous, bloody, _conniving_ Wardens had all disappeared into their tents. Leaving only Cullen behind to stand watch.

She tried not to freeze like a deer in torchlight, and only just barely succeeded. With an awkward clearing of her throat, she dropped some wood on the fire and the rest beside it and sat down opposite the side of the fire he was on for her dinner (Moiraine, Carver and Mekel must have eaten fast to be done with their food before she'd returned, the sneaky bastards; clearly they knew something was going on).

It was an uncomfortable few minutes of her chewing sounding far too loud in the silence – the only other noises being the crackle of the fire and the various chirps and thrums of the forest wildlife – and Cullen staring silently into the fire, his expression indiscernible. For a moment Toriana almost wondered if she'd gotten ahead of herself in assuming Cullen would be hurt by what had happened – after all, he _was_ a man, and had just gotten sex with no emotional attachments. All males wanted that, didn't they?

_Alistair hadn't_, that cruel part of her whispered.

_Shut up, _she snarled back.

Maybe she had just imagined he would be anything but pleased about what had happened – her ego running away with her. Maybe there was nothing to worry about at all. She began to relax, to admit to herself that yes, that did sound reasonable.

But her theory was shattered when he glanced up over the fire at her for a split second before tearing his eyes away to fix them on the ground at his feet, forehead creasing. His eyes were… confused. Conflicted.

Hurt.

Toriana silently cursed herself and steeled herself for an unpleasant night.

"Cullen." His head snapped up, as if he was surprised she'd spoken. Or perhaps surprised she'd said his name. She sighed and tried to pull her Commander mask on, but it slipped right off again. She couldn't hide. She composed her voice into as neutral a one as she could manage on her own and leveled him with a firmly serious look.

"That can't happen again." She didn't have to say what 'that' was, he knew. She could see his body stiffen slightly, the skin around his eyes tighten incrementally, but he held her gaze and she was the first to look away, to the trees. "We both know it can't."

Why, by the Maker, did she sound so upset? Why was this so difficult? Now she understood how Alistair must have felt, when he told her they were done.

Why was she comparing this to her and Alistair? Blight take her, she was being ridiculous!

The Commander mask came on with some difficulty, but she managed it, and her voice was cooler and more controlled than it had been moments before. "I hope we can put it behind us and remain friends and comrades."

Toriana thought for a moment that he'd flinched, but chalked it up to her overactive imagination (had she eaten something strange recently, that it was acting up so?). After a moment he nodded wordlessly, still refusing to look at her, and she nodded in return, though he couldn't see it. Unable to remain out there next to the fire, she stood awkwardly and went to her tent. "Wake me up for second watch," was the last thing she said before she retreated to the safety of her tent, where his sad amber eyes couldn't haunt her in person, only in her mind.

There were few things that Toriana truly regretted in her life. Cullen's pain was one of them.


	6. The thoughts we dwell upon

**Author's Note:** Sorry it's such a short, filler-ish chapter, but I had to get into what Cullen was feeling before I moved on with the story, as I felt it would add to the general melancholy and confusion of their whole relationship. So enjoy a sad chapter of Cullen's confused thoughts, and be assured that the next chapter will contain more story!

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><p>Cullen felt as if the night was taunting him. The crickets chirped their merry tune and the sounds of some animal snuffling through the brush passed by, blissfully unaware of his misery. Even the gentle breeze through the tree leaves seemed upbeat.<p>

But he was hurting.

He couldn't quite say he had been expecting everything to change between Toriana and him after what had happened on the banks of that river, but some foolish part of him had hoped… Hoped that maybe there was a chance for them. That maybe what the demons had tortured him with – a happy life with her away from the Tower – was possible.

Clearly it wasn't. It seemed so cruel to him, so cruel that Toriana would hold him, would kiss him with such passion and… and do _that_ with him, only to turn away with a cold shoulder immediately after. What had he done wrong? He hadn't forced her into anything, _she_ had been the one to push herself on him (not that he'd protested). _She_ had been the one to… to…

Cullen barely stopped himself from groaning out loud. Just thinking about it was making his blood heat up, making him ache for her again.

"_That can't happen again."_

Her words cut like shards of glass, sharp and agonizing.

He dropped his head into his hands and stared at his feet. Was it because they weren't married? That they had committed adultery? Cullen certainly felt guilty enough about it; he had been raised in the Chantry, and his upbringing told him what they'd done was wrong. But no, by the way she had _clearly_ known what she was doing and had felt no pain in the beginning, he knew it hadn't been her first time, and she certainly had never been married – if she had, it would have been big news in Ferelden.

He found himself unwillingly thinking about who else she could have been with. King Alistair. A flare of angry jealousy burned through him, that the _King_ would take a woman's purity and not marry her. Not just any woman, but _Toriana_, the only woman he had ever met that was so captivating, so worthy of love and respect…

Cullen wondered if Alistair had loved her as she had clearly loved him (if her pain when he was mentioned was any indication). Obviously not, if the man had gone off to marry Queen Anora and just left Toriana heartbroken. And Cullen decided that he hated Alistair. Hated him for being the one Toriana loved; for breaking her heart; for leaving her alone. He felt guilty that he hated the man when he had never even met him (the fleeting view of him in the Tower didn't count), but he couldn't help himself.

And he couldn't help but wonder if Alistair was the only other man Tori had been intimate with. He remembered the look in the eyes of that elven assassin, the way they clearly knew each other very well.

Cullen cursed under his breath. He was going to drive himself crazy like this, but he couldn't go to sleep. Not if it meant facing the torturous dreams he had had the night before, where he relived that moment with Toriana, and then awoke aching for her and alone. Utterly alone.

… Had he been so bad? He thought she had enjoyed it as much as he had, but he had heard that women could (and would) fake it… Had she merely faked it? That didn't sound like something she would do, but how could he really know? Maybe it was because he was terrible at it that she didn't want him.

Maybe it was just something she regretted, something she had done by mistake in a fit of unthinking, like that night she had kissed him outside The Hanged Man.

Maybe she just didn't like him that much.

Cullen spent the rest of the night tortured by his own thoughts, keeping watch over the camp. By the time the sun had risen, he had shadows under his eyes and was even more conflicted and confused than he had been before.

He hadn't woken Toriana to take second watch.


	7. The things we dislike

**Author's Note:** What's that? An update? Yes, indeed! Yay! Sorry for the long delay, life is hectic and when you don't have internet, a computer, or a library card, it's difficult to get stuff up online :( But here's another (seems like filler but I swear will be semi-important later) chapter for you folks! And don't forget to leave a review with your feedback! Love you guys, next chapter will hopefully be out within the month.

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><p>The morning was silent and oppressive, a thick fog hanging over the land, and Toriana shivered as she strapped into her armor. The dampness clung to her skin and the chill air made goosebumps rise along her arms.<p>

The Wardens barely spoke as they had their meals had their meals and set off along the forest path. Even Aethelstan, normally fiery and prancing when they first set off in the mornings, was subdued and plodded along beside the other horses without even a snort or a whicker.

Tori and Cullen still kept their distance, she riding beside Moiraine in the front while Cullen rode beside Mekel and Carver in back. No one spoke as they navigated the increasingly improving path. Toriana guessed, as she looked at her map and tried to gauge how far they'd already travelled, that they were nearing Cumberland. She was not excited about this. She'd heard the Chantry presence in Nevarra was far more oppressive than the one in Ferelden, though not quite as bad as Kirkwall.

As if to answer her anxieties, around midday (with no lightening of the gray sky or bleak fog), they heard hoofbeats approaching. Toriana signalled for a stop and braced herself, ready to snatch her staff from her back in an instant if it turned out to be trouble. She almost pulled it out before, but was glad she hadn't when the figured emerged from the fog.

Templars. Four of them.

When the armored men saw the Wardens, they fanned out, drawing their weapons. "Who goes there?" one of them called out in a very Templar-ish, commanding voice.

Toriana held back a sigh. Of all their luck, they had to come across _Templars_. "Ferelden Warden-Commander Amell, and her Grey Wardens. We seek Cumberland to resupply before we continue on our way to Vigil's Keep."

The Templars paused and murmured to each other for a moment, and one of the men seemed very agitated if his posture was to be believed, before the man who spoke before replied. "We do not suffer apostates roaming freely through Nevarra."

_Shit_. She had been hoping they wouldn't realize she was a mage. So much for _that_.

"She does not travel alone." Toriana let out an unceremonious squawk of surprise at hearing Cullen reply. "I am former Knight-Commander Cullen of Kirkwall." She shot a glare over her shoulder at him that clearly said 'I can handle this myself.' He only glanced at her for a moment before turning his gaze back to the Templars, and the pain still rife under the surface made her flinch guiltily and turn back forward.

The four men finished murmuring to each other again. "We will escort you to the city so you do not get lost."

Tori snorted under her breath. She didn't believe a word of it - they simply wanted to watch to make sure an evil apostate wouldn't wreak havoc. She spurred her horse wordlessly forward and her Wardens followed her. Two Templars stationed themselves on either side of her and Moiraine, the other two followed behind the rest of the group.

She could feel the warning press of their Templar talents, ready to stifle her magic if she made any move to access it. It was making her skin crawl, and she glared sourly at the back of Pig's head, imagining it was a Templar. Damn Templars.

It was a silent, uncomfortable ride. Even Cullen didn't say a word to his former brethren. The man on her left kept shooting her furtively hostile looks that she could sense even behind his helm. Even Moiraine kept quiet, with anxious glances to her Commander.

Two hours of riding later, the Templar on Tori's right told them to turn onto a side road that would head more directly towards Cumberland. Less than ten minutes on that road and an arrow whistled through the trees to clang off the armor of the man on her left. In an instant, all was chaos as they were surrounded by bandits and battle broke out. Toriana's staff was out and twirling, but as she was about to send flames out towards their attackers, walls suddenly closed down around her, knocking the breath from her lungs and making her vision grow dark as waves of nausea hit her and her head began pounding agonizingly. Unable to keep her perch on her horse's back, she fell and crashed hard onto the ground.

After a moment of stunned pain, she rolled onto her side and retched as her meager breakfast fought to come back up. Her entire body was drenched in cold sweat and a ringing was in her ears. She knew this feeling. Templar talents, ripping her from the Fade. And none too gentle, either.

As her vision and hearing returned she could hear the sounds of fighting stop and someone was shouting, answered by someone else shouting in return. She lifted her head slowly, finding her energy completely gone and her whole body trembling, and tried to focus on the people standing before her. Cullen was in front of her, and she could hear his deep voice booming as he growled with clear hostility at the Templar across from him.

"She was trying to defend herself, you had no right to cut her off!"

Toriana groaned as another spike of pain drilled into her forehead, enhanced by the Templar's loud retort of, "I was doing my duty - a duty you seem to have forgotten, Warden. Apostates are not to be left to cast magic without temperance, where they can cause havoc!"

The Warden-Commander rubbed a hand hard over her face and slowly pushed herself to her feet, trying to act as if the world was not swimming before her eyes and failing when she stumbled a few feet. As Cullen opened his mouth to bite out another scathing remark, Toriana dropped a hand to his arm - briefly, as things were still horribly awkward between them - to stop him from speaking. She sent a bitter look to the Templar with narrowed eyes, "Is this how you treat all visiting foreigners of high rank?" she grumbled, in too much pain to be properly biting.

The man didn't back down, though. "A mage is a mage, no matter what their status," he said harshly, and she could feel his eyes burning holes into her from behind his visor.

"She could have been killed! How is she to defend herself when she's half-conscious on the ground?" Cullen's voice was cold as he stared hard at the Templar. Toriana felt a rush of appreciation for him, defending her against the very ideals he himself once held, against a man he would have once perhaps clapped on the shoulder and called friend.

But she didn't need to be protected; she could handle herself. Clearing her throat loudly, she stepped forward, noticing with smugness that the man before her took a step back, his hand falling to his sword. She _was,_ after all, a _big, scary apostate_. The thought almost made her laugh out loud. Almost.

"I've had enough of this. If you cannot act civilly enough to refrain from attacking people who have identified themselves as your allies, then we no longer need your assistance in reaching Cumberland. We can find our way ourselves." Her eyes and voice were ice, and she turned dismissively to pick up her staff from where it had fallen on the ground before she went to Pig's head. She noted with tenderness that the horse had stood beside her the whole time after she fell, not running away as another horse might have. Uncharacteristically, she gave the buckskin gelding a pat on the neck before she hoisted herself up onto his back with a bit of difficulty. As she wheeled him around in the direction they had previously been going on the road, her Wardens - having heard the conversation - were beside her with their mounts as well.

The Templars did not seem happy at all. The one who had smited her was starting forward as if to stop them, but one of his companions stopped him and spoke. "You may go, but you will be watched, apostate. We will make sure when we reach the city that we check to make sure you're not breaking any laws."

Toriana didn't even look at him, only snorted condescendingly and sent Pig into a walk away from them. Cullen shot them a dirty look when he passed them. As their horses plodded down the road, the angry Templar growled to his companions loud enough for the Wardens to hear, "Look what the world's coming to, a former Knight-Commander now the thrall of an _apostate whore_." He spat the last two words out as if they tasted like dirt.

_Ignore them. Just ignore them._ Toriana repeated in her head as she felt her blood boiling, but it wasn't herself she had to worry about. With a piercing neigh, Cullen jerked Aethelstan back around, "Take it back," he snarled, and even Tori was a little frightened by the burning look in his eyes. She almost felt bad for the Templars. Almost. Surprise kept her lips sealed, even though she knew she should stop him before there was a fight.

"You cannot speak of a lady - not just any lady but the Warden-Commander of Ferelden - in such a way and expect to get away with it, serah." His voice had calmed to a deadly rumble, and his stallion pawed viciously at the ground and snorted as he sensed his master's rage.

The Templar, at first a little cowed by Cullen's anger, now deliberately pulled his helmet up away from his face to spit insultingly at the ground at the horse's feet.

Cullen's eyes flashed, but before his hand could reach his sword Toriana spurred Pig directly in front of his horse, "That's enough! We don't have time for this!" she snapped, the pain in her head making her unfairly harsh to him. Aethelstan, who never liked Pig much in the first place, went to bite the gelding's flank and Tori steered him out of reach before she leveled Cullen - now with brow furrowed and looking agitated, offended, and horribly upset all at once - with a look that practically begged him to listen to her.

After a moment, he reined his stallion in and turned away, followed instantly by Toriana, who didn't want to stay too close to the Templars who were starting to look a bit like they were ready to draw their swords.

The Wardens walked in silence, no one wanting to bring up the incident with the Templars and no one wanting to break the obvious tension in the air caused by Toriana and Cullen's previous awkwardness and his current stiff-backed anger. Luckily the ride was short, and within an hour the city became visible.

Cumberland.

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><p><strong>Oh, and also, I didn't really proofread, because I was on limited time on the internet, so if you see any major mistakes, please let me know so I can fix them next time I get my hands on a computer!<strong>


	8. The things we realize

**Author's Note:** Woah, okay, update way sooner than I planned! This chapter just ran away with me, I think it's the longest one yet... Phew, my characters have a mind of their own, I swear! This chapter does not fit in my plans at all, haha. Sneaky characters. Specifically Moiraine x3

Well, enjoy this update, sorry if it's written strangely, I was stuck outside shivering the whole time I wrote it so I kept losing my train of thought and I feel like I changed voice a lot throughout. Oh well. Next update within the month! And thanks again for all your support!

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><p>Cumberland was a city much larger than Amaranthine, nearly on the scale of Denerim. The gates were guarded by four militia and one Templar, and though there was a bit of difficulty at first getting through (Toriana had to reiterate multiple times that she was the <em>Warden-Commander of Ferelden<em>, not a rogue apostate), eventually they were allowed to dismount and lead their horses into the city.

The Merchant's Quarter was the first avenue they walked down, slowly so as not to accidentally trod on the many scrawny street children that darted between their horses' legs and stopped to beg them for money in Nevarran. The people on the street looked nearly as gaunt and and starving as the Nevarran bandits they had come across, and all of them watched the Wardens - who clearly had enough money to feed themselves and afford horses - with an unnerving hunger. And those who did not watch with hunger looked to the staff on her back with a wary hatred.

Toriana grimaced as yet another dirty child - this one no older than five years old - stopped in their path and begged, hands held out pleadingly. It was painful to see the disturbing contrast between the merchants, well-fed and thriving as they called out their wares, and the commoners, looking close to death. But giving money to each child that stopped to beg would do no greater good, and would end with the Wardens penniless and with still hundreds of miles to travel. And her conscience would not let her give money to just one child while the rest starved.

The Warden-Commander shook her head, "I'm sorry, but no," she said in as firm a voice she could manage, knowing he wouldn't understand her words but rather her tone, walking her horse around the child.

It was slow going this way, but eventually they found an inn that looked acceptable - its name, when roughly translated from Nevarran, was 'The Dancing Hag.' They brought their horses into the stables, which they noted gladly was guarded by two rather large, frightening looking men, and ventured inside.

Cullen, being the only one among them who spoke Nevarran, negotiated with the innkeeper for many minutes. He stumbled over his words and spoke slowly, and Tori could see his still-present agitation from earlier building as the conversation continued, and she stepped up to the counter to give him a questioning look.

"He says they only have two rooms," Cullen grumbled, and Tori noted his eyes looked like molten gold when he was angry. "For 50 gold each per night."

Toriana gave the inn around them an incredulous look, then turned a sharp eye on the innkeeper, who was eying her staff with a slightly lifted lip. "Tell him this shack can be worth no more than ten gold each a night, and likely not even half that." She was not in the mood to barter nicely, not when her back (and her behind, for that matter) ached from the long road, and her head still throbbed agonizingly, and she still could not reach her magic, and she thought of the Templars from earlier. No, she did not feel like being terribly nice at the moment.

Cullen clearly felt the same way, for he did not hesitate to translate her words with a hard stare at the innkeeper. The man babbled back with an offended look, and Cullen translated bluntly, "He says 15, or not at all."

Toriana sniffed and turned away, "Then not at all," she said dismissively, "We can find another inn." As she and her Wardens turned to leave, made it to the door, the innkeeper called them back in an almost desperate voice. Toriana couldn't keep the smug smile from her face as she turned back and tilted her head in mock sweetness and raised her eyebrows.

"8 gold a night," Cullen translated.

Toriana nodded and pulled the coins from a pouch tucked into her armor, dropping them into the innkeeper's palm, "Not a great deal, but I imagine it's the best we'll find in this Maker-forsaken city."

Cullen ordered them meals and ale and they retreated to a back corner of the near-empty room to sit at a table. Moiraine peered about them with a furrowed brow, "This city is so…"

"Poverty-stricken?" Toriana finished for her, the anger gone from her voice and now replaced with simple weariness. She propped her elbows on the table and her head in her hands, trying to massage away the pain that still thrummed in her head. That damn Templar had tried his hardest to make sure she suffered.

Moiraine made an agreeing noise, sounding more than a little upset. "It's almost as bad as the alienage in Denerim… Those poor children…" That dark thought was answered with silence, all of them unwilling to speak more of the problem they knew they couldn't fix.

When the ale and food arrived, they all buried themselves in their mugs and meals, looking for an excuse to not talk more about the city. Moiraine glanced at Toriana, "Are you okay, Commander? You looked like you fell pretty hard earlier… Did that Templar… do something?"

Toriana almost sighed, and rubbed her head again. She knew Moiraine was well-meaning, but this was _not_ a subject she was keen on talking about at the moment, especially with Cullen only a couple feet away and now glaring darkly at the table at the mention of the earlier incident. Still, she didn't want to brush the girl off - she was concerned, after all. "I'm fine, just a bit of a headache. He smited me; it's a Templar thing, strips me of my mana. It'll be back eventually, but until then…" She did sigh this time, and took a deep swig of her drink.

"Asshole."

Carver's muttered comment made her look up in surprise, and when she saw the rest of her Wardens nodding in agreement, Toriana felt so close to them in that moment, so grateful for their support, that she couldn't speak. They could be irritated that her being a mage caused them so much trouble on their journey, or they could even agree with the Templar, or simply ignore the whole thing and allow it to happen, but instead they stood by her loyally.

Toriana smiled, actually _smiled_ a true, warm smile for the first time in days. She loved her Wardens, every one of them.

_Do you love Cullen, too?_ that cruel, brutal voice inside of her whispered, wiping the smile from her face.

_Shut up,_ was all she could respond, but that thought had done its damage, and she found she could no longer look at Cullen, her earlier guilt and confusion having returned to the surface.

Moiraine yawned and stretched, "I think I'll head to bed, we'll be leaving early, I suppose?"

Toriana nodded, "I'll get us our supplies tonight. We'll leave at dawn."

Carver also excused himself, and Mekel stood, saying he wanted to scope out the city a little. And that left Tori and Cullen alone at the table before she could realize and leave without seeming rude.

_Shit._

Cullen still looked upset from earlier, also avoiding looking at her as he slowly drank his ale. It was uncomfortably silent for many minutes, neither of them willing to be the first to speak, until Tori couldn't take it anymore.

"Thank you," she croaked out, not looking at him. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him start in surprise and stare at her. She wished she had her Commander mask now, but when she tried hiding behind it it just slipped away, leaving her exposed and awkwardly spinning her mug in circles. "For, er, defending me, earlier. I just wanted to say I appreciate it."

There was silence for a moment, and Tori thought she had erred in bringing the incident up at all, and had an overwhelming urge to flee, but then he spoke. "He had no right," his voice was a growl, but it was subdued.

Toriana smiled a wry smile that held no mirth in it, "Templars do many things they have no right to do." It came out more accusing than she wanted it to, but it was already out of her mouth, too late to stop it. She braced herself for his snapping retort, readied herself for yet another argument.

Cullen sucked in a deep breath and let it out before he spoke. "They do." Toriana reeled back in surprise, not only because he had _agreed with her_, but also because he had referred to Templars as 'they.' As if he was no longer one. She almost felt triumph and gladness over it, until she glanced up and saw the conflict in his eyes. He had grown up in the Chantry, after all, had been a dedicated Templar more than half his life. The realization that they weren't exactly the knights in shining armor he once thought they were must be a blow.

Suddenly, Toriana felt bad for him.

Her earlier urge to brush the furrows from his brow returned, made more intense by what they had shared days ago. _A mistake,_ she reminded herself, but her words sounded hollow now.

"I'm sorry," she said softly, her words genuine and her lips turning into a frown. She meant it as a sorry that he was seeing that Templars weren't as perfect as he had once thought, but it came out as a sorry for everything. For always arguing with him, for his torture at Kinloch Hold, for the other night. For hurting him.

Before he could respond - if he even would respond, Toriana stood and cleared her throat, "Supplies," was all she managed to mumble out before she turned and disappeared through the inn door. Guilt stabbed at her as surely as the pain in her head did, and as she walked through the streets of Cumberland, looking for a shop that sold supplies for travelers, she found that when she tried reminding herself that things between her and Cullen would never work, _should_ never work, a blanket of stifling sadness dropped over her. Even as she reminded herself that her heart belonged to Alistair, that by even longing for Cullen at all she was betraying her first love, she found that she felt more terrible about the thought of hurting Cullen than the thought of betraying Alistair.

This confused her, and instead of trying to work out what she was feeling in her mind, she did what she always did and brushed them away to focus on mentally and emotionally undemanding tasks. Like finding supplies.

. . . . .

It was nearly an hour later when she returned to the inn, two rather large bags full of food, thicker blankets for the steadily decreasing temperatures, tents, and various other supplies hanging over her shoulders. Her headache had faded away, and her magic was slowly returning to her, so her mood was slightly improved. The common room was empty, and so she climbed the stairs to the room she and Moiraine would be sharing and entered quietly, expecting the girl to be asleep already.

She wasn't, however, instead sitting up in the bed already in her sleeping clothes, with her blanket (the innkeeper had decided to be _so generous_ and let them use _two whole blankets_) wrapped tightly around her shoulders, looking at Toriana as if she had been waiting for the woman to return.

As Toriana dropped the bags on the floor, Moiraine spoke, tentatively, "Commander, are you sure you're alright?"

Tori gave her an incredulous look as she peeled her armor off, "I'm fine, Moiraine, my headache is gone and my magic is returning already."

But the younger woman was sharp. "I don't mean that, I mean… you haven't seemed yourself lately." The redhead awkwardly picked at a loose thread in her blanket, avoiding Toriana's stare and looking more and more nervous by the second. "I don't mean to intrude, but Cullen has been acting strangely too. Did… did something happen between you two?"

Toriana's eyes widened and she froze. Was it that obvious? Had the other Wardens noticed? She cursed silently to herself; if Moiraine had noticed, then likely they all had. What did they think of their Commander, going off to fool around with the new recruit? _Shit_, she swore in her mind for the third time that day. She may have just lost the respect of her companions.

And then the anxiety melted into indignation. Her personal life was none of their business! And to openly ask such a thing! The Warden-Commander turned a glare on the woman in the bed, "I don't see how that should concern you," she snapped coldly.

She instantly regretted it when Moiraine's eyes widened and she shrunk back into her blanket. It wasn't her fault, she shouldn't be taking her anger out on an innocent girl. Toriana sighed and rubbed a hand over her face, dropping to sit on the bed beside the redhead. "I'm sorry," she mumbled, feeling her anger fade away into sadness, confusion, conflict...

Moiraine scooted closer to her, and she felt the girl's hand on her arm, comforting, "You can talk to me, Commander. We're friends, aren't we? That's what friends do."

Tori wanted to hug the girl. She was so well-meaning, nonjudgmental. It had been years since Toriana had had anyone to talk to, a confidante. During the Blight, it had been Alistair, and for the things she couldn't talk to Alistair about she had Leliana, Wynne, Zevran, even Rabbit would cock his head and listen to her as if he understood. Since them, she hadn't had anyone even close to them.

It was now she finally realized how lonely she was, how isolated she had made herself since the Blight; since Alistair had broken her heart.

Toriana turned and looked at Moiraine, truly looked at her. Her expression was open and concerned, and in her eyes Tori could see that this was a person she could trust wholly and completely. And so, for the first time in ten years, Toriana opened up. She told Moiraine everything - Alistair, the heartbreak, Cullen, her guilt, her confusion, not knowing what to do or even what she wanted. Through it all, her youngest Warden listened, supportive and understanding.

When she was finally finished, her voice was nearly a whisper, worn out, and she dropped her head into her hands. "I don't know what to do. I wish I could take back the pain I caused him, but I can't. I feel… stupid. Foolish. Cruel."

It felt good to get it off her chest, to be completely honest. She felt as if a little bit of the burden she carried was lifted, making it a bit easier for her to breathe. It was also slightly terrifying, to trust someone so much with knowledge she had guarded so closely for so long. She had never spoken about Alistair since he ended it to anyone, not even her companions during the Blight. And it was scary now to know that someone else knew about it, someone else knew her vulnerability.

Moiraine gave her a sympathetic look and spoke softly, "Why is it so hard to let Alistair go, after all this time? Why is it so hard to let yourself accept Cullen? He clearly is head over heels for you, and you seem to care about him a great deal."

Toriana frowned at the bed, "He's not head over heels," she protested weakly, looking for some way to escape the subject.

The redhead raised an eyebrow incredulously and scoffed, "Commander, he's smitten. Did you see the way he defended you against the Templars? Or how much he worried when you were poisoned in the Deep Roads? He couldn't sleep, you know, when that happened." Toriana frowned more. She _hadn't_ known that.

"That could just be him being protective over… over a mage. Or a female." She didn't know why she was arguing now; why _was_ she so against this idea?

"And when he taught you to ride a horse? The rest of us wouldn't have been able to be so patient with you snapping like that." Tori's face reddened. Had she really been so bad? Moiraine wasn't stopping, however. "And the way he looks at you, as if you're an oasis in a desert, or the most beautiful thing in the world? That staff he bought for you? I asked Solvitus before we left - it likely cost Cullen two weeks' pay. But he got it for you, didn't he?"

Toriana didn't like where this was going. She couldn't explain why, but she didn't. She didn't like the strange, warm, fluttery feeling she was getting as Moiraine talked. She tried writing off everything she said - he taught her to ride a horse so they wouldn't be slowed down. He bought her a staff so he wouldn't constantly have to defend her. But her excuses sounded childish and she knew it.

She shook her head, "It doesn't matter, anyways, I only like him as… as a friend. We've always been friends." _Do friends have sex like that? So passionately?_ She ignored the voice.

Moiraine snorted as if Tori had made a joke, "Commander, you're almost as bad as he is - no, worse, because you don't even acknowledge it! Remember when that ogre attacked him? Or when he became tainted? I've never seen you look so afraid of losing someone. Why can't you just admit it?" Those green eyes looked at her so seriously, her voice held such honest truth, that Toriana's eyes widened and she shrank back a bit. The girl may as well just slapped her in the face.

"I-I'm getting tired. Goodnight." She managed to stammer out, turning away from the redhead's knowing look and burying herself under her blanket as she lay down on the bed. She heard Moiraine sigh in exasperation before settling in herself.

The Warden-Commander didn't fall asleep for a long time, her thoughts spinning and swirling around themselves. She could hardly breathe, she couldn't think properly. All she knew now, thanks to her friend's prodding, was one thing, and it scared her. Scared her more than any hordes of darkspawn or Archdemon or Templars. It scared her because she did not know how to deal with it, did not know what to do.

Toriana was in love with Cullen.


	9. The things we are addicted to

**Author's Note:** You guys should love me. I wrote this chapter in the freezing cold while at work (where I did nothing for the first hour) and then I sat out in the freezing cold AGAIN to type it up and post it online before my roommate returns. This is how much I love you. This is how dedicated I am.

;) Enjoy!

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><p>The next morning Toriana was shaken awake by Moiraine. She groaned and rolled over, irritated at the interruption of her rather pleasant dream which she could now not remember.<p>

As she and Moiraine changed into their armor, Moiraine grinned slyly at her. "You look like you're in a better mood today, Commander."

Toriana wrinkled her nose as last night's conversation, and subsequent realization, hit her again. She didn't know how to react, or truly even how she felt about it, so she just shrugged dismissively and busied herself with putting her hair up in a bun.

Moiraine giggled and opened the door, "See you at breakfast!" she chirped before she disappeared. Tori scowled at the wall. That peppiness of hers was starting to grate on her nerves.

Cullen was the only one not downstairs when she joined the other Wardens at their table, new bags of supplies in tow. As they ate, Moiraine looked around and nudged Carver with her elbow. "Where's Cullen?"

Carver shrugged, "He refused to get out of bed. Seems sick or something."

Toriana looked up and frowned at this, "Sick?" She couldn't keep the concern out of her voice. _Because you love him._

_Because I'm his Commander and it's my duty to worry about my recruits._ Profound realization or not, Toriana wasn't going to start fawning over him in the name of 'love.'

Carver shrugged again, "I dunno, he kept mumbling something, I couldn't really understand him."

Tori scowled and stood, "You should have told me sooner," she growled before she ventured back upstairs to knock on the door to what had been the men's room. No answer.

"Cullen?" Still no answer. She opened the door slowly, wincing when it creaked, the noise seeming like an explosion in the silence.

He was still in bed, as Carver had said, and when she walked in he slowly opened his eyes to stare blankly at her for a moment before he glanced out the window where dawn was breaking. Still he did not speak, or make any move to get up.

"Why aren't you up yet? We need to leave." Her voice came out clipped; a Commander reprimanding her newest recruit. No hint of her revelation the night before.

He opened his mouth to respond, seemed to think better of it, and slowly sat up as if it pained him. The blanket fell down to his waist to reveal a bare chest, and Toriana quickly looked away, curing her rapidly warming cheeks.

"Why are you acting bashful? As if my chest is the most intimate part you've ever seen of me." His voice was mocking, and when she whirled back to stare at him in utter surprise, his eyes - underlined with dark shadows - were narrowed and his expression was mean.

Toriana's mouth fell open, unable to believe that _Cullen,_ of all people, would say such a thing. She couldn't speak.

He seemed to realize what he said and his eyes nearly popped out of his head. "I-I'm s-sorry, I don't know what… I d-didn't mean…" he stuttered, his face going sickly pale.

Toriana's mouth snapped shut and her lips thinned dangerously. "I expect you downstairs in five minutes," she hissed curtly in as cold a voice as she'd ever used. And with that, she spun on her heel and stalked out, hands clenched into fists and shaking with rage and embarrassment.

She was going to _kill_ him.

. . . . .

Toriana didn't wait for Cullen to eat breakfast after he came downstairs, she ordered the Wardens up and out, refusing to look at the newest recruit. She still could hardly believe he had said what he said, and with such a harsh expression on his face. She couldn't deal with it now, not when she had been forced into realizing that she _loved_ the bastard. Maybe she didn't after all, if he was going to act like that now.

They bought a pack horse from one of the vendors in the Merchant's Quarter (Tori easily bartered the price down, in such a fowl mood that she practically bullied the poor man into giving her a fair deal) and tied most of their luggage to it before tying it to Moiraine's horse - a placid mare - and setting off.

The day of traveling was uneventful in every way except for one. Cullen, whenever spoken to (for he didn't offer to speak on his own) by one of the other Wardens, was snappish and rude, so unlike his usual self. They all tried to ignore it, to pass it off, but finally near nightfall when Moiraine dropped her horse back to try starting an amiable conversation with him and he outright insulted her, both Toriana and Carver turned on him.

"Don't you talk to her like that!" Carver snarled at the same time Toriana snapped, "That's enough!"

Their group stopped abruptly, the four senior Wardens facing the newest one, with Moiraine looking meek and hurt in her saddle and Carver looking like he would attack Cullen if he so much as looked at her again. Toriana glared at Cullen, who sullenly glared right back, and she almost couldn't speak again. What was wrong with him? This wasn't like Cullen at all!

"What in the Fade is wrong with you?" she growled, "You're acting like a… a rotten teenager! I've had enough of it!"

Cullen, breathing unusually hard and with a sheen of sweat on his brow, darted his eyes from one Warden to another as if he expected them to attack him and was ready to whip out his sword. Toriana noticed now the heavy bruising under his eyes, as if he hadn't slept in days, the sickly pallor to his skin, the tremble in his hands.

"Cullen… are you sick? What's wrong with you?" Her voice was only marginally gentler than it was before, a thread of concern weaving its way in.

He panted and opened his mouth as if to respond with a scowl on his face before he stopped himself and looked down as if seeing himself for the first time. He lifted a trembling hand and studied it before brushing the back of it across his forehead and looking at it again, stricken. "Dear Maker, I didn't think it would happen so fast…" he mumbled. He looked up at Toriana with wide eyes, eyes that were frightened and pleading, like a child's. "Lyrium," he rasped, "I-I ran out of my stockpile yesterday morning. I thought…" he trailed off and stared at the ground blankly, as if he had forgotten he was speaking.

Toriana felt as if she'd been punched in the gut. _Lyrium._ How could she have forgotten? All Templars were addicted to it, were fed a carefully regulated amount by the Chantry, every single day of their lives from the first time they took their vows. And Cullen had been a Templar for nearly fifteen years…

The Warden-Commander swore loudly, "Why didn't you get any when we were in Cumberland?" she asked, sounding angry because she, too, was afraid. The other Wardens looked mildly confused, because they didn't know. They didn't know the effects of lyrium addiction. They didn't know that most people who suddenly stopped taking it after years of regular ingestion died. Most people… That was an optimistic approximation. Toriana had _never_ heard of anyone who stopped and lived.

Cullen grimaced and ran a shaking hand through his hair, the sweat making it stand up at odd angles, "That damn Templar from the road, he…" His hand clenched into a fist and he slammed it into his thigh, glaring at it, "He refused to give me any, made sure the others didn't either. And the Chantry only gives it to Templars, not…" he trailed off again, looking blankly at his hands.

"Not Grey Wardens," Toriana finished for him in a voice barely above a whisper. She was frozen, she didn't know what to do. She'd never seen a person stop their lyrium addiction, but she'd heard the horror stories. Stories of men going crazy, of them killing themselves, or others before they were slaughtered. Stories of them losing their minds to wander the streets with no idea who they were or why they were there, only with the one thought: to get more lyrium. When she thought of any of those scenarios for Cullen, it was as if a shard of glass were being sent into her chest. She couldn't let that happen.

"We're going back to Cumberland. They'll listen to me." Her voice was firm, her eyes steely. If they didn't listen to her, she would take it by force if she had to, Templars be damned!

Cullen heard her and stiffened, eyes widening, "No! We can't go back there, please!" Already he was losing his mind, his voice higher than it normally was and borderline hysteric. He kept clenching his hands into fists, and she could see him grinding his teeth and panting like a trapped animal. "Please, let's just keep… keep…" And then his thought was gone again, and he dropped his head to fiddle with his reins intently, as if he hadn't just panicked about going back to the city.

The sight of him losing it was hurting her. It was even worse, in a way, than seeing him injured and near death, because at least with that death he would have been sane until the end. But this…

He was losing his mind.

And now that Toriana knew that she loved him, knew she cared so deeply for him, she couldn't bear to see him go insane.

She would find a way to save Cullen, even if it meant saving him from himself.

Somehow.


	10. The moments we dread

**Author's Note:** Oh, I'm so sorry it's been so long since an update! But I actually do have a reason why I've been gone - I found out that I'm going to be having a baby! Unplanned, but we're keeping it, and so naturally my life's become a bit hectic (understatement understatement understatement). Little one (don't know if it's a boy or girl yet, I'm only 7 weeks along), is due around December 23, in case anyone's curious (I doubt it, but I'm gonna be a mom so I just have to share, haha).

So this chapter was a little rushed, I found myself with some unexpected computer/internet time and decided to take advantage of it. While it's not as long as I'd hoped to give you folks, I hope you can forgive me at least a little, I really am sorry :(

Also, it was done in WordPad, so I had no spellcheck or grammar check or anything of the sort, and had no time to go back and proofread (I'm rushing to write this now), so please excuse any errors or inconsistencies. I'll try to check next time I get internet, we'll see how it goes.

As always, read and enjoy my dears, and I'll try to get another update up within a month or two!

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><p>Since Cullen could barely ride on his own, Toriana ordered them to make camp early. He managed to take care of Aethelstan himself (for which she was grateful, since she didn't want to go anywhere <em>near<em> that beast), but she had to help him with his tent. His hands were shaking so badly that it collapsed whenever he tried tying the ropes, until he was cursing under his breath and looking on the verge of breaking down. No one spoke.

"Here," Toriana said softly, coming up next to him and slowly reaching to take the rope, but even though she tried to be calm and soothing, he still jumped and looked at her wildly, and it took him a moment of glazed-eyed panting before he recognized her and let out a deep breath.

"Sorry," he gasped, dropping the rope and backing away a couple feet, eyes fixed on the ground. Sweat coated his skin, and it was all Toriana could do to keep from brushing a reassuring hand across his brow. But instead she picked up the rope and set up his tent for him, even going so far as to take his bedroll from the ground and lay it out inside.

"If you need anything-_anything_, just tell me, okay?" she told him, eyes fixed on his face and all previous awkwardness forgotten in her concern for him. He merely took a shaky breath and nodded faintly at the ground, unable to look up into her eyes. She turned away with a spear of pain in her chest, seeing him so unlike himself, so _broken_. It was almost unbearable.

Toriana finished pitching her own tent and getting her things in order before she joined the rest of the Wardens (besides Cullen, who had retreated into his tent immediately) around the fire and helped herself to a bowl of the thin radish and potato soup Moiraine had put over the flames.

"What exactly is going on, Commander?" Moiraine finally gathered the nerve to ask, timidly, after Tori finished her meal and had been staring into the fire for a while.

The Warden-Commander sat in silence for a minute, eyes fixed on the hypnotically dancing flames. They were beautiful and dangerous, dancing gracefully and swirling but utterly capable of destruction, and so simple was the fire that she found it hard to look away, to leave the comfort and simplicity of the flames and return to the harshness of reality. But eventually she did.

"Lyrium is the main ingredient in mana-replenishing potions," Toriana began, "A highly dangerous element when unrefined, capable of causing defects and insanity, and only marginally safer when it's refined. It's mostly safe for magic-users and those resistant to magic. Mostly. Templars are spoon-fed it in nonlethal amounts by the Chantry from the time they take their first vows to 'harness their talents,' they say." She snorted bitterly, "More to control them with a hard-to-obtain drug and an addiction that will kill you if you try to stop."

Carver interjected, "That doesn't make sense, why would the Chantry do such a thing?" He sounded incredulous, stubborn.

Toriana smiled mirthlessly, "Templars aren't allowed to have families, they're encouraged to disconnect from any family and friends they may already have. They live with other lonely people their whole harshly disciplined lives, suppressing other human beings made different by no choice of theirs, seeing some horrors that would break a person, sometimes dying in their service or, adversely, learning to hate what they do. Most people with a choice would leave within a few years, but how can you do that when you're addicted to lyrium and the only way you can have it is to stay a Templar?"

That was met with silence. Toriana stared glumly into the fire for a minute, letting that much sink in before continuing. She explained the side-effects of lyrium withdrawls, the high mortality rate, the even higher risk of insanity. She told them exactly what could happen to Cullen. In the end she had to fight to keep the anger - anger that this would happen to such a good man, anger that it happened only after she realized she loved him, anger at the injustice of it all - from tightening her throat and bringing tears to her eyes. She fetched an oiling cloth and her staff and began to clean and polish it as minutely as possible, digging the dirt and dried blood out of every little etching, every small crevice. It kept her mind and body occupied, kept her from screaming and throwing the nearest thing into the fire, from cursing the gods and crying till she had no energy left in her.

Moiraine, once again, was the one that broke the silence. "What... what are we gonna do, Commander?" Her voice was soft, concerned, pained for her friend and the newest Warden.

Toriana didn't say anything for a long time, just focused on getting a tiny pebble out from a wolf's mouth with her knife. When finally she worked it free, she looked up, and her eyes were red and tired, more tired than the redheaded Warden had ever seen her, and when she spoke her voice was weary. "You get some rest. I'll take first watch."

Mekel growled low in his throat, "He's going to slow us down and take up supplies, and he might go crazy and attack us. Val Chevin is less than a week's ride away, only a couple days if we push it; I say we drop him there."

Toriana's eyes flashed and her mouth tightened. Nostrils flared dangerously, and when she spoke her voice was tight and barely restrained, the words clipped short as if she could baredly contain her fury. "I said, I'll take first watch. _Good night._"

That made them disperse quickly. It was a very rare thing for the Commander to get so angry at her recruits, but when she did it was a warning that if they did not stop what they were doing, there would be serious trouble.

When she was alone, Toriana tried to keep working on her staff, but she couldn't focus, could barely bring herself to lift the dragonbone. She sighed and set the staff and cloth down and looked up at the rapidly darkening sky. The days were getting shorter and shorter as winter approached; soon they would have to start travelling after dark or they would lose many precious hours. Now the sky was just starting to show stars. The King's Eye was the biggest one, large and fiery red and blazing above all the rest. Toriana couldn't even remember the story associated with it and the constellation that went with it. Wynne had been the one to teach her that one, when she was much younger back at the Circle.

She wondered where the old healer was now, whether she was even still alive. A morose thought, but in her life Toriana had grown used to the thought of her friends dying. A high-risk lifestyle had consequences. And especially now she found herself thinking dark thoughts.

It was nearly an hour later when Tori heard rustling and the creak of armor and turned to see Cullen crawling out of his tent and slowly walking to sit a polite distance from her. His breathing was shaky, and he ran a sweaty hand through his hair, making it stick up even more. There was a bit of an awkward silence, but after a few minutes Cullen broke it, wringing his hands.

"I... I c-can't figure out how to get m-my armor of-off..." he choked out, his face going from deathly pale to sickly green within seconds. He looked as if he wanted anything but to be there, saying that to her, right then.

Tori's mouth dropped open, but seeing the tortured look on his face made her close it quickly. Was he asking her to help him take his armor off?

But she couldn't leave him helpless like that, not if he was already so far gone as to be unable to take of his armor - he had been wearing armor for most of his life, the withdrawls had to be bad if he couldn't manage to take it off himself - so she scooted closer to sit in front of him and slowly reached out a hand towards his side.

His nostrils flared like a terrified animal and he clearly stopped himself from moving away, and she looked down and found that her hand was trembling as she touched it to the buckle on his side. Maker but it killed her to see him like this! "It's okay, Cullen, it's me, Toriana," she murmured softly, in a voice to comfort a frightened child.

That seemed to calm him slightly, and as her hands got to work undoing the buckles on his sides, he stared down at them silently. When she lifted her hands to unclasp the buckle on his shoulder, near his neck, he sucked in a sharp breath and looked up at her with frightened, utterly unguarded eyes, and what she saw there made her reel. He was afraid. Not just the basic fear, but deeply, instinctually terrified, and somehow she knew it wasn't just because her hand was near his exposed neck, but for the fear that he was losing himself, losing his mind. And he looked to her as if she could save him.

It was then that Toriana knew she would never give up on him, that she would stay by him and help him no matter what, until he was better or... or... or she couldn't think of the alternatives.

Removing the rest of his armor didn't take much time, as he no longer resisted, and soon it was in a pile beside them and he sat only in a cotton tunic and pants.

"Is it alright if I touch you?" she whispered, surprising herself, and even more to her surprise Cullen seemed to come a little back to himself as his cheeks tinged pink and he opened his mouth to respond. When nothing came out but a choked little squawk, he shut it and nodded meekly, amber eyes startlingly wide.

Toriana didn't know what she was doing, she had _no_ idea what she was doing - what in the nine hells _was_ she doing? - but it seemed as if something was drawing her along, something pulled her forward to put her arms tentatively around him and, sensing that his tenseness was from surprise and awkwardness and not fear, pulled his head gently down to rest in the crook od her neck. He gasped in surprise, but as she pressed her cheek to his soft golden-auburn hair and rubbed her hands soothingly up and down his back, he slowly began to relax until his arms hesitantly came up to wrap around her waist and his breathing slowed against her neck.

"Everything will be okay," she murmured, in a voice that sounded more sure than she felt (and calmer, too, considering her pulse was racing to have him pressed against her like that, his lips barely touching her skin and sending goosebumps travelling down her spine). "I'll protect you." Even as the words left her lips she knew there was no going back, that she had crossed a boundary that could not be crossed over again. She could feel it in the sudden press of Cullen's fingers against her back, in the way his beath quickened slightly, in the way she suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to run, _run_ before things got awkward and she was hurt!

But for once Toriana didn't run. She stayed, and held him until he finally, reluctantly, pulled away and looked directly into her eyes. The shadows under his hand darkened even more since earlier, she noted, and the look he gave her was somewhat guarded, almost accusing. "Is this some trick?" he asked softly as his hands fell away from her sides and into his lap, "Are you merely leading me on yet again to drop me as soon as you feel the desire?" His tone was flat, with a hint of bitterness.

Tori froze. She hadn't been expecting that, to say the very least. And now the look he gave her, so obviously hurt by her previous actions, made her suck in a sharp breath and furrow her brow, "Cullen, I... I didn't mean to-to hurt you, I..." She bit the inside of her cheek to distract her from the urge to cry, to break down and tell him everything, about Alistair, about her broken heart, about her stupidity. But now wasn't the time, especially not for a hysterical confession.

"I was a fool, I was mean, I..." her voice cracked with guilt, with shame, and she dropped her eyes to the ground, "I'm sorry I hurt you. I won't be so stupid again."

There was a long silence as Cullen stared at her and she avoided his eyes, hating herself for what she had done and, petty as it was, hating him now for putting her on the spot and confronting her like he was. Finally, when she was about to cringe away and put a modest distance between them, he spoke as if he had never brought the subject up.

"Will you... stay w-with me tonight? So I can s-sleep? The nightmares..." he trailed off, his eyes now shuttered and dark, not noticing that she had looked up in surprise and indignance at first. "They're horrible. Worse than before. I can't sleep." His voice was raw, tortured, but when he glanced up at her there was a far-off hint of warmth, buried under the shadows. "But you help me, if you're just... there... it might..." he trailed off, his eyes becoming blank and confused, as if he'd forgotten what he'd been saying.

Toriana was frozen, but finally she nodded and cleared her throat. As uncomfortable as it would be, she would do it for him, she owed him that much - and much more. "O-of course," she whispered.

And then it seemed like no time passed at all before she'd woken Carver for second watch and crawled under Cullen's tent beside him. He instantly curled up on his side away from her, allaying her vague (and utterly unfounded) fears that he was perhaps trying to persuade her into more sex, and she lay on her side facing him, watching over him as he gradually fell asleep.

It wasn't long before the nightmares started, and he muttered and sweated and tossed and turned. Once he rolled to face her and was shaking violently, and she reached out to put a hand against his burning forehead. At first he jerked back and from his throat came a hissing noise, but after a moment he calmed and pressed into her touch, eyes tightly closed and hands tangled into his blanket. The nightmare slowly subsided and Toriana eventually fell into sleep beside him with dread in her heart.

She didn't know how she was going to do this. If this was only the first week, bad as it was, what would the second week bring? She was terrified to think of it.

And even if she did manage to miraculously heal him, to pull him out of the dark hole he was in, where would that leave them? How could he ever forgive her? How could she ever forgive herself for hurting him the way she had?

Toriana didn't know what she dreaded more, the thought of Cullen losing himself and going crazy or dying, or him being healed and hating her for the rest of her days.

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><p><strong>I also forgot to mention that this chapter was kind of crappy, I apologize again : Next will be better, I promise!**


	11. The things we break

**Author's Note:** And here is the long awaited Chapter 11! Sorry about the delay, growing a baby takes a lot of energy ^_^; This chapter totally sucked me in, though, and luckily my job involves a lot of freetime where I can write if I'm not utterly exhausted and just trying to stay awake ;) In fact, I think this is the longest chapter to date... or at least very nearly up there!

Warning: this chapter is _not safe for work_ (it's probably bad that I wrote it while at work, hahaha)

Enjoy, my loves! And let me know what you think! More reviews means more inspiration for me to write, heehee (-is totally not bribing you all-) ;)

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><p>Toriana awoke to the first, tender young rays of sunlight, like a light glimpsed from around a corner in a long tunnel. At some point in the night Cullen's arm had come around her and pulled her flush to his body – almost too tight, as if in his sleep he were afraid if he let her go he would be lost. Now her head was tucked neatly under his chin, one arm under his and pressed against his back, and though they were not covered by any blanket they were both warm with each other's heat.<p>

At that moment, with Cullen sleeping soundly, his deep breaths and steady heartbeat calming her, Toriana wanted nothing more than for this to never change, to never leave the protective embrace of this amazing, gentle, strong man, this man she loved. She wanted nothing more than to pretend that the lyrium withdrawals were all a bad dream, that he would open those beautiful amber eyes and look at her with clear sight and tell her that he did not care if she was a mage, and he once a Templar; to tell her that he wanted only to be with her.

But it would not happen, _could_ not happen. Perhaps it never would.

She pulled her head away enough to watch Cullen's face, now peaceful as it was not when he was awake. He stirred and opened his eyes before Toriana moved more than that, and those amber irises fixed on her silently, not aggressive or confused, not warm or affectionate. Just observing her. She didn't know what to make of it. Would he snap if she moved? Get angry? Or would he be terrified and was now like a deer standing still, entranced by the hunter's bow? Or would he pull her closer, kiss her, and never let her go?

She couldn't lay there forever, so before she lost her nerve Toriana quietly pulled away and sat up before – with not a word shared between the two, only those unspoken – she crawled out of the tent. Moiraine was on final watch, but she pretended not to see and didn't say a thing as she watched Toriana cross the camp and duck into her own tent.

The Warden-Commander pulled on her armor and began packing her things before she took down her tent and went to secure it to Pig's saddle. By now the gelding had grown (mostly) accustomed to his inexperienced, stubborn rider, and he raised his head and whickered gently as she approached him.

"Time to go, Pig," she murmured. He stared at her with large, calm brown eyes, and she was suddenly reminded of Rabbit, her dear hound. Pig was a less intelligent creature, she could easily see that, but he still held the same nonjudgmental, loyal look her Mabari had had. Tori felt a strange rush of appreciation for the creature, and once she had secured her bags to his saddle she pulled out a dried apple from her bag and fed it to him. Her fear – at least of Pig, not to say she didn't still dislike other horses – had all but faded away.

Cullen didn't need help taking down his tent, strapping on his armor, or getting Aethelstan ready. In fact, besides the shadows under his eyes and the sheen of sweat on his brow, he appeared almost normal.

Toriana stood beside Pig, a hand on his muscled neck, and watched as her Wardens got ready to depart. But her eyes were mostly on the newest recruit. He truly seemed back to normal, if silent and tired. He hardly touched his breakfast of dried bread and meat, and kept his eyes down, not looking at anyone. The Wardens were mostly silent as they started off; any attempts at conversation quickly died away.

The day was still and cool, despite the sun's piercing rays, and Toriana found herself digging in her pack for her cloak to drape around her shoulders. When they stopped their gentle trot at midday for lunch, the atmosphere was subdued. Toriana didn't know what to say to Cullen, afraid the wrong words might cause him to recede and no longer be able to travel or behave normally.

And so, she stayed away, and he made no attempt to approach her or anyone else. None of the other Wardens seemed to have any desire to speak to Cullen either, least of all Carver and Mekel. The rest of the day – and the next day as well, for that night he didn't ask her to sleep with him again – was silent, tense, and uneventful, full of dull travel along the packed dirt road.

They set up camp on the second night a short ways from the road, where the forest was a little thicker and they were forced to space their tents out more than usual. After a small fire was started – just big enough to roast a tin of beans for dinner – and tents were set up, Moiraine sat next to Tori.

"How are you, Commander?" she asked softly, tentatively, with a quick glance toward where Cullen was silently eating, separate from the rest of the group.

Toriana was not keen on talking about Cullen now, when she still had no idea of where things would go and it was all still too risky, but she didn't want to brush the girl off callously. "I'm fine, Moiraine, thank you." She put her hand on the girl's shoulder and squeezed briefly, giving her a small, grateful smile.

Moiraine gave a small sigh and smiled faintly back, "Okay, Comander, if you say so." And that was all that was said.

. . . . .

Toriana took first watch, and towards the end as she was reading a small, cloth-bound book she had found in Cumberland about Force Magic (which she had never been good at), Cullen came out of his tent and sat a polite distance away, as he had two nights before. This time, however, he was oddly calm, looking at her with surprisingly clear eyes and no hint of nervousness or shame or guilt. Just looking, almost observantly, as if he was trying to figure her out, the way one might look at puzzle.

The silence stretched on as she tried to ignore the itching feeling his staring caused in her. Finally, she looked up from her book, where she had read the same paragraph five times without processing it. He did not look away from gaze, and Maker but his eyes looked like liquid gold in the firelight!

"Cullen," she said; not a question, more trying to catch his attention and draw him out into speaking.

He perked up slightly, as if something had gone off in his head at the mention of his name. "Toriana," he murmured, and it sounded like a breath of wind through the trees. The corner of his mouth twitched as if he were about to smile, but then his forehead creased and he looked confused.

"I would like to speak with you," he sounded oddly formal. When she looked at him expectantly he glanced around. "In private."

Though she didn't understand how it wasn't a private setting, with the other Wardens asleep in their tents, her watch was pretty much over so she conceded. "Let me wake Mekel. I'll meet you in your tent." Just saying that sent odd shivers down her spine. Not altogether unpleasant ones.

When she ducked into his tent, which was a bit farther off from the others, he was sitting up, waiting for her. The little light peeking around the door flap barely illuminated his face, but her eyes slowly began to adjust to the darkness.

It was now that Cullen seemed unsure of himself, hesitating in his speech almost as if he'd prepared it and was starting to get second thoughts.

"I wanted to talk about me. You… Us."

Toriana's breath caught and she had the instinctive urge to flee, but to her credit she did not. "Oh?" she managed to croak out, but he didn't seem to be paying attention to her, focusing on choosing his words.

"I… my memory of late has not been… reliable. I barely remember even who I am, let alone why I am here and who all of you are. I… know names, but I cannot think how I've come to know you and travel with you, or even much before the last couple of days." He trailed off and stared in consternation at the wall of the tent. "It is rather troubling, and yet I feel as if all of this is right. _Mostly_."

Toriana listened with bated breath, unsure of where this was going exactly, but utterly afraid of where it _could_ go.

"The only clear – and yet completely confusing – thing in my head is _you_.

"I feel so many emotions regarding you, and so strongly, but they're all tangled up. Pain, guilt, shame, regret, lust, fear, happiness, and… the strongest one is the one I understand least. I… care about you. I want to make sure you're always safe from harm, from sadness. I want you to be happy, and even more I want you to be happy _with me_. I can't stop thinking about you; when I eat, when I sleep, when I'm doing absolutely nothing at all. It's… it's as if you're both the sun and the moon of my world, the brightest thing in my life be it dark and scary or light and joyful. And yet, like the sun and moon, you feel… utterly unattainable, far away, untouchable. Like a fine sheen of ice, that when you reach out to admire its beauty, it's shattered and lost."

He paused in his rushed, breathless speech for a long time, all the while with gaze fixed on the ground, and Toriana was speechless. Then he lifted his eyes to her, eyes that held such a bare, uncovered display of raw emotion that she froze and her heart began hammering in her chest almost painfully.

"And though I barely even know myself, I know for sure that all I want above all else is to have you without losing you."

The last line Cullen said was slow, tentative, vulnerable, and the look he gave her, which hit her with almost a physical force it was so strong, made her mouth go dry.

She didn't know what to say. What he'd just told her… he'd just affirmed that he felt the same towards her as she felt towards him. She felt like she was falling, falling and falling; it was scary, yes, but exhilarating. It was… almost like Alistair telling her how he felt, but it gave her more of a rush, felt so much more _powerful_.

Tori couldn't talk, couldn't express the elation she felt, and like so many times before it was as if her body took care of it for her. She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his, and though it started out soft and tender, the kiss quickly evolved into something more urgent, as if neither could get close enough to the other, as if the press of their lips were not enough to express their long pent-up _need_ for each other.

Cullen groaned, and his hands were caressing her face, stroking her cheeks, as they broke apart for ragged breaths. "Toriana," he whispered, pressing his forehead to hers and looking as if he could hardly believe this was happening, "Oh my dear Toriana..."

Any other words were cut off by the press of her mouth on his, her lips parting and inviting him in. Her hands grasped the shirt on his back as if it were her lifeline, and the feeling of him burying his fingers in her hair was so familiar and sweet she couldn't keep the whimper from escaping her throat.

They dropped onto the bedroll, Toriana on top, in a desperately passionate tangle of limbs and lips and tongue. It was as though all of their past awkwardness, past nervousness and restraint, had evaporated. Toriana was no longer cold and reluctant; Cullen was no longer shy and guilty. It was clear from the soft noises escaping their throats, in the way they pressed their hips together, in the look in their eyes the few times they broke apart gasping, that there was nothing either person wanted more in this world than the other.

This time was so unlike the last. Where their union on the riverbank had been mindless, almost bestial, a scratching of an intense sexual itch, this time – though no less gasping and clinging and desperate – was passionate, deep, like a long drink from an oasis when one had been parched in the desert for days. This time there was _love_, and they reveled in it instead of hiding.

Their clothes were hurriedly pulled off, and as Toriana slid down on top of his hard length, they both let out a gasping moan at the tight fit, as though even those most intimate parts of them also wanted to press as close as possible. For the moment Toriana paused, letting her body adjust to his size buried deep inside of her as her nails gently grazed his taut torso, Cullen drank in her body straddling him. From the soft black curls where her legs were spread, to her lean stomach, to her round breasts with small, beautiful nipples that he ran his fingers over and smiled as she gasped and jerked, grinding her hips against his and sending spikes of pleasure through both of them. He had never seen a woman more beautiful, more perfect, than Toriana.

Toriana began to rock her hips, hands braced on his chest for balance as he slid in and out of her. She began slow, almost tortuously so, until Cullen, hands trailing and exploring her upper body, groaned and bucked his hips instinctively, ramming deep inside of her. She gasped in both surprise and pleasure, the dark lusty look she fixed on him sending thrills right down to his loins. And then she was moving faster, hips bucking up and down, her wetness allowing his large size to slide in and out of her smoothly. Her teeth were clamped down on her lower lip to keep from screaming in pleasure as his fingers hooked around her hips and helped pull her as she slid down so that he was slamming harder into her.

The very sight of her body, the pleasure on her face and the sweat beginning to trickle down between her bouncing breasts, was an aphrodisiac for Cullen. Though they both wanted it to last forever and tried to put off their release, the sensations got to be too much. As Cullen's shaft throbbed as he came, his entire body going tense and the groan that left his throat entirely deep and guttural, Toriana let herself go over the edge, thighs squeezing his hips as she tightened around him and bit back all but a low moan.

Muscles trembling, she collapsed on top of him, gasping, and both of them coated in a sheen of sweat despite the chill air. Cullen's hands tangled in her hair and trailed down her back, soft and lazy, and he sighed her name into her ear. And this time, instead of panicking and running, Toriana lifted her head from where she'd laid it against his chest and kissed him, softly, sweetly.

He sighed again, a sigh of utter contentment.

They spent the night exploring each other's bodies with caresses and lips and tongues. They found each other's sensitive spots, ticklish spots, and beautiful imperfections. Toriana traced between all the freckles on his body with soft fingers, kissing each one. Cullen did the same with her various scars, listening as she whispered the stories behind them. They talked, sometimes long, thoughtful conversations, and other times just sweet nothings, confessions of affection and attraction.

But try as she might, Toriana couldn't say the words she so desperately wanted to. Just three simple words, but she was struck dumb each time she opened her mouth. Something was holding her back, some fear lingering in the back of her head that she couldn't place. And so she ignored it, focused on the happiness she felt wrapped in Cullen's arms, the arms of the man she loved.

. . . . .

At some point in the night they fell asleep wrapped up in each other. Toriana dreamed of the lion again. He purred and wound himself around her legs, butting his head into her hand so she'd pet him. She felt happy just having him with her.

Then he was leading her into the ocean, and though she was scared, she trusted him, felt safe with him, and so when the cold water came up to her shoulders she wrapped her arms tightly around his large chest and let him lead her through the water, trusting him completely.

Though the shore was getting farther and farther away, she stayed calm, burying her fingers in his thick mane. But suddenly, when the shore was no longer in sight, her lion disappeared.

Dark water came up to cover her head; the salt burned her eyes and her nose. Toriana panicked and began thrashing, trying to swim but she _couldn't_! She had never learned to swim! She had gasped instinctively as she went under, fighting for breath, and the water burned in her lungs and she couldn't _breathe_, her body was screaming at her to _get to the surface now! Breathe!_ But she couldn't, she _couldn't_!

And just like that Toriana was awake, only her dream was _real_, but instead of drowning there were hands around her neck, squeezing the life from her. Large hands, the very hands that the night before had touched her so gently, were constricting her throat until she thought it would break.

Unable to think straight, she couldn't believe it, _wouldn't_ believe it. But it was true, there he was kneeling over her, his face contorted into a rictus of hate and his eyes burning like fierce and terrifying fires.

For a moment her mind blanked, then she was tugging at his arms, his hands, writhing and desperately trying to pull him off of her but still unwilling to hurt him. When she tried to open her mouth to plead with him to stop, all that escaped her throat was the faintest of wheezes and then nothing. She couldn't hurt him, she _loved_ him! Irrational though it was since he was trying to kill her, she couldn't hurt him to save herself, it must be some sort of crazy misunderstanding.

But when her vision began to go black, her instincts kicked in and her will to live overpowered her desire to protect him. Magic flooded through her, burning in its frenzied intensity so it almost hurt, and in a split moment her hands – wrapped around his forearms – burst into flames.

The smell of burning flesh filled the tent and Cullen howled in agony, releasing her neck and staring at the burns on his arms. Toriana immediately sat up, completely tensed, but could do no more than cough agonizingly and gasp for air as her airways slowly reopened.

As if by instinct Cullen's Templar talents flared and Toriana felt as if she'd been smashed headfirst into a wall as her magic was torn from her. What little breath she had was knocked out of her and her head started pounding as she retched up the meager contents of her dinner into her lap.

As she tried to recover, to defend herself, Cullen snarled at her from where he cradled his still-smoking arms, "Demon!" he hissed, "Blood mage!" In the faint morning light his eyes were bloodshot and wild, sweat dripping down his bare skin, for they were both still naked as they had been when they fell asleep. Toriana tried to protest, to reason with him, to tell him no, he was wrong, this was not one of his nightmares, it was real, it was _her_, _his Toriana_, but all she managed was to gag on her stomach bile and wheeze weakly.

Then he lunged with a wordless roar like a rabid dog. She was still disoriented and reeling from both the smiting and the attack, and he managed to knock her down and get a knife (which must have been tucked under his bedroll) inches from her chest before she got her hands up just in time to stop it. In her desperation her left hand wrapped around the blade as the other grabbed one of his arms just beside his burn. Cold, unforgiving steel sliced deep into her palm, but she couldn't let go, not with the point now barely an inch from her skin. He was much stronger than her, but she'd managed to lock her elbows against the ground and use it as leverage against him.

Hot blood dripped readily from her hand, spattering on her chest. Cullen was growling, pushing harder, and after a long stretch Toriana felt her strength seeping out of her and the blade crept infinitesimally closer. This wasn't going to work; it was obvious that he wasn't going to stop, that he was mad.

The Commander took over, and her shin flew up to ram as hard as she could into his groin. His face contorted into a look of surprised pain and he lost his grip on the knife and instantly curled to protect himself, coughing and groaning from the impact. Toriana wasted no time. Her foot flew up and smashed into his face, and the crack of his nose breaking was both sickening and satisfying. Off balance from the vicious ripostes, Cullen reeled and toppled over backwards, his eyes already unfocusing as he lost consciousness from the powerful blow.

"Commander?" Carver's voice was close outside the tent, and sounded concerned. He must have heard the commotion during the last part of his watch. Or perhaps everyone was up now, it certainly looked light enough.

Toriana's mask was gone, and now she was in shock, staring uncomprehendingly down at Cullen's bloody face. He had tried to kill her. After the night they'd had, the things he'd said to her, he had tried to kill her, as if she were some abomination.

Lyrium withdrawals. She cursed herself. How could she have forgotten? Just because he had seemed relatively normal the last few days meant nothing – most people took weeks, if not months or years – to recover from lyrium withdrawals, not just a few days. She had been so stupid! She had let her feelings for the man get in the way of her better judgment. Stupid.

Toriana had forgotten about Carver, that she hadn't responded to him, and she nearly leapt out of her skin when he threw back the tent flap, made a noise of strangled surprise, and immediately closed it again. That's right, they were still naked.

She grabbed Cullen's shirt – they had no towels and he wouldn't need his shirt for now – and wiped the vomit and blood off of her the best she could before she slowly, painfully pulled her shirt and pants on. Her entire body hurt; her head still pounded and her magic was gone, her neck still felt like it was caught in a vice grip, her throat burned from puking, her muscles ached, her hand was still bleeding profusely, and worst of all her heart was crushed, mangled.

Cullen had tried to kill her.

Even if he miraculously got back to normal, would her broken trust ever be able to mend again?

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><p><strong>Woohoo! Well, I'll try to get the next chapter up within a month, we'll see how it goes! Don't forget to review ;)<strong>


	12. The decisions we make

**Author's Note:** Surprise! Miss me? You guys probably hate me, but it's okay, I understand. But finally an update! It's short, but there's more to come within a month (I think...) Thank you all for the amazing reviews, reading those got me back to writing this story again. So this is for you loyal readers!

Enjoy!

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><p>Toriana slowly opened and closed her left hand, watching expressionlessly as blood welled up out of the gaping gash across her palm. Crimson droplets traveled across her skin and beaded under the back of her hand before dropping to splatter on her pants. The pain was nauseating, the burning sting in her flesh making her stomach churn, but the pain was a distraction from reality, so she continued to open and close her hand. Open and closed. Open and closed.<p>

Pale, slender hands enclosed her left hand and Moiraine's face swam into view as the girl knelt in front of her and leaned her head down close to Toriana's. "Commander." Her voice was soft, her blue eyes concerned.

Toriana stirred and pulled her hand out of the younger woman's grasp, frowning. "What is it?" she grumbled irritably. She just wanted to be left alone, alone with her thoughts.

Moiraine looked hurt, but the Warden-Commander's attitude didn't deter her. "You're bleeding again, you need to stop using that hand," she scolded, an edge to her voice. There was only so much she could take before she, too, got irritable. Her deference to her higher officer melted away and she reached out, "Give it here."

The Warden-Commander didn't struggle, just sat there mutely, her back against a tree, as the redhead cleaned and bandaged her wound. The redhead put so many bandages that it was hard to move her fingers; Toriana was sure that was entirely on purpose. When she finished, Moiraine pressed a warm hand to her cool cheek, "Everything will be alright, Commander."

Even the ever optimistic girl didn't sound like she believed that.

Toriana said nothing, just stared over the girl's shoulder at where Cullen was bound tightly with rope to a tree. Bandages covered his forearms were she had burned him badly; he would likely have vicious scars once the burns healed. A rag had been stuffed in his mouth after he'd regained consciousness and started screaming with a mixture of pain and hatred, throwing obscenities and threats at Toriana, begging their companions to see that she was a demon, a maleficar, pure evil. Now he just sat there still and quiet, arms pulled behind him around the tree, bare chest rising and falling with every breath, amber eyes fixed on Toriana.

When their eyes met, Cullen's chest rumbled with a growl and he pulled against his bonds. He was a feral animal, relentless and wild, chained against his will. She couldn't bear to look at him any longer, so she stood and turned away.

"I'll be back," she muttered to Carver, who stood guard nearby, and before he could protest she was gone through the trees. She needed to think.

. . . . .

Hours later the sun reached its zenith as Toriana returned, sweaty and breathing hard. As suddenly as she'd disappeared she'd reappeared, wordlessly. Her face was inscrutable, blank as stone, and her eyes dark and hardened.

She'd found no solace in the trees, no answers in the form of deer running from her, no solutions in the crunching of pine needles beneath her boots, no peace in the chill breeze on her face. She'd found only anger, resentment, and hopelessness. So she ran, ran as fast as she could. She pushed herself nearly to her breaking point, using the sweet pain in her muscles as a temporary distraction from her life, her troubles.

When she'd stopped, Toriana had new resolve. And a plan. Tentative, shaky, and utterly insane, but a plan nonetheless.

Mekel was sitting near Cullen, his dark eyes narrowed in the man's direction, watching for any sign of escape. A foolish notion, considering how tightly bound he was. Carver was penning a letter on a crumpled bit of parchment with a worn old quill and a nearly-empty bottle of ink. If she'd cared to pay attention, Toriana would have been surprised – she didn't think Carver the 'letter-writing' type. Moiraine was nowhere to be seen.

The Warden-Commander went to her tent and began packing up, motioning for the other Wardens to do the same.

"We break camp as soon as possible," was all the explanation she gave.

The others obeyed, though the looks they gave her clearly showed their reluctance. She had become taciturn, and that was never a good sign with the Warden-Commander. Moiraine emerged from her tent and dejectedly started taking down her tent. The camp was silent but for the rustling of cloth and the clinking of eating utensils and saddle buckles.

Once she was dressed in her armor and finished putting her bags on Pig's saddle, Toriana stood facing Cullen. He met her gaze, his eyes molten gold and simmering with a cold, quiet rage. She studied him silently, eyes fixed on his face, as if trying to see if there was anything left of the man she'd known. All she found when she looked deep enough was fear under his hatred. Fear of _her_.

She collected herself and knelt beside him, pulling a knife from her boot.

"What are you _doing_?" Carver exclaimed when he saw her going to saw through the rope binding Cullen to the tree.

The Warden-Commander gave him a level look, "He can't walk while tied to a tree, Carver," she said flatly. When he made a noise of protest, she cut him off, "He won't attack armed Grey Wardens." She turned to look at Cullen, lifting her knife _just_ close enough to his neck that he got the message, "Will you?"

Cullen glared at her for a long minute before he shook his head once, slowly. She finished cutting the rope and he fell forward, limply bringing his arms forward to gingerly rub his raw wrists where the sisal had cut into his skin. Toriana put her knife back in its sheath and roughly grabbed his hands before he could get any ideas and swiftly wrapped the rope around his wrists again, this time leaving his hands in front of him. She pulled the rope slightly less tightly than Mekel had done, carefully keeping it away from the bandages over his burned arm. She didn't intend to cause him pain.

"Help him get onto his horse," she ordered the other men, "And for the Maker's sake, put a shirt on him, it's cold."

She cautiously approached Aethelstan's reins where they were tied to a low-hanging branch. The monster snorted and pawed at the ground aggressively, but Toriana held her ground, scowling at the beast. She reached for the reins, and the stallion lunged forward without a sound, teeth bared to bite her arm. Toriana jerked away just in time, and saw a flare of red. Without a thought, she curled her hand into a fist and slammed it into the beast's nose.

"Try it again, you son of a bitch," she snarled as he pulled back with a surprised shake of his head, more stunned than hurt. She was _not_ in the mood to be bitten by some monster horse. The other Wardens were staring at her, but she ignored them, tying a length of rope to the reins before walking back to where Pig was munching on a patch of grass and securing the other end to his saddle.

Once Carver and Mekel had Cullen safely on his horse, Toriana mounted up and turned to face the other Wardens. "Here," she tossed a bag of coins to Carver, "Take a boat to Amaranthine. I'll meet you at the Vigil when I can."

Moiraine gasped and shook her head, "Commander, no! We can't leave you alone like this! Not with—"

The Warden-Commander looked Carver straight in the eyes. He was the most likely one to obey her orders out of the three. "Carver. It's safest for all of you this way. For Moiraine. I'll meet you at the Vigil when I can."

He hesitated, grey eyes unsure and flitting between his Commander and the crazed ex-Templar behind her, but Toriana gave him a look and said "Go."

Carver sighed, "Yes, Commander."

He turned his horse away and Moiraine cut in again, "No! But what if he attacks her again? We can't—" He stopped her with a hand on hers, and she silently hung her head, giving her Commander and friend one last look over her shoulder before they were out of sight through the trees.

Toriana set Pig to a brisk walk, Cullen's horse following behind. Although his gag had been removed, Cullen was silent, and she couldn't help but wonder where his thoughts were right now. Was he plotting an escape, or to attack her again? Was he dwelling on his own crumbling mind? Or was he empty-headed, unable to form a concise thought?

She had more pressing matters to think of. Namely, where they would go. She intended to find a small inn somewhere with no Templars where she could wait out Cullen's withdrawals. Then, when he was sane again, they would take a boat (her earlier vow to never use one again revoked) back to Amaranthine and all would be well.

_If_ he ever got sane again.

But she didn't want to consider that possibility. It would work, it had to.


	13. The darkness we enter

**Author's Note:** Aha! I promised another update soon, and for once I have delivered! :D This one is pretty long, too (for me), so enjoy and leave a review to let me know what you think!

Also, there is "Orlesian" (aka French) being spoken in this chapter. I just used Google Translate because I haven't taken French since middle school and, to be honest, never liked it anyways, heh. No offense! Just not my cup of tea. So if these translations are awful... I apologize. Although some of them are intended to be not quite accurate, seeing as how Toriana sucks at Orlesian as well as I do ;)

Translations:

_Qu'est-ce qui ne va pas avec lui? _ - What's wrong with him?

_il ... pas se… sentir bien_ - He's... not... feeling good.

_Est-il besoin d'un guérisseur?_ - Does he need a healer?

_il… va bien_ - He's... fine.

_Où êtes-vous? Êtes-vous de la Ferelden?_ - Where are you from? Are you from Ferelden?

_Etes-vous un Templier?_ - Are you a Templar?

_Etes-vous ivre? Mon père s'enivre beaucoup._ - Are you drunk? My father is drunk a lot.

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><p>"I don't know what you intend to do with me, maleficar, but it won't work. I stand in the light of the Maker!"<p>

Toriana sighed and narrowed her eyes, ignoring Cullen's mad ramblings. She had removed his gag an hour ago, for some unbelievably stupid reason. Pity, perhaps. And now she regretted it. At first he'd been silent, his distrust and piercing stare stabbing her in the back as they rode, but finally he'd spoken up, spurred by his hatred. And for nearly fifteen minutes she'd tuned out his babbling as she stared down at her map, cursing as she realized it would be no help in telling her which way to go at this three-way fork in their path.

But it had gotten to be too much. She'd go mad herself if she had to listen to much more of his nonsense. She likely was _already _crazy.

She yanked on Pig's reins entirely too hard and wheeled him about as he snorted and chomped on his bit in protest. "Would you _shut your mouth!_" she snapped, meeting him glare for glare. It was childish to react in such a way, she knew, but she had been bottling up her building irritation and anger for the last ten minutes. She never claimed to be a rational woman. Her horse danced nervously, sensing his rider's foul mood, and Cullen's horse mirrored his skittish prancing.

Cullen jerked back slightly in surprise, as if he hadn't expected her to respond so harshly. His eyes narrowed and he opened his mouth to deliver a scathing rebuttal, no doubt, but Toriana beat him to it.

"If I wanted to kill you, I'd have done it already. Hell, I'm considering it now!" she exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air. "If I wanted to… to…" she wasn't exactly sure what blood mages _did_ to non-mages, aside from torture, so she waved her hands in the air vaguely. "To turn you into some sort of demon husk or abomination, do you _really_ think I would bring you to a town to do so? Why not out here in the woods, who knows how far from the nearest village?" He stared at her wordlessly, and she found she couldn't contain her pent up rant.

"I wouldn't! So shut it and let us at least travel in quiet if we cannot have peace!" She was shouting, she knew, and likely alerting any highwaymen within a mile of their location, but she couldn't stop. "I don't care if you're going through withdrawals or not, if I have to hear another quote from the Maker-damned Chant of Light about magic, I will shove you straight up the ass of that thing beneath you you call a horse!"

The following silence was practically deafening. Cullen stared at her with stunned eyes, and she gave him one last glare before pursing her lips and saying tersely, "Now then, I'd like to find an inn before nightfall, so unless you have any insight as to which way to go, I'd appreciate you keeping your thoughts to yourself."

And with that, she turned Pig back around and on a whim took the left-most path with the hopes that it would keep them away from the Imperial Highway to the north, as well as any Templars that may be on that well-travelled road.

Thankfully, Cullen kept silent for the rest of the day, although a few times when Toriana looked over her shoulder to check on him she could see his eyes darting around the forest surrounding them. There were times when she caught his lips moving as if he were talking frantically to himself. The sheen of sweat he had the first few days of his withdrawals were replaced by dullness and a gray cast to his skin, and his lips looked almost blue. She already regretted snapping at him, wondering if that had affected his behavior.

Damn it all, _he_ had tried to kill her, _he_ had called her all sorts of awful things, _he_ was the one who hated _her_, and yet she still felt bad for him. _Why can't anything ever be easy? _she groaned in her head.

Luck was on their side, for as the sun reached the horizon and the sky began to grow dark, they came upon a small village. Small glass and metal lanterns hung outside of every door, casting a warm, welcoming glow across the dirt path winding down through the buildings.

An elderly woman shaking out a rug next to her small cottage stopped and stared at the two intruders slowly walking down the street. Toriana cleared her throat and called out to her, "Excuse me, where might we find an inn?"

The woman stared with apprehension, distrust coloring her features as she glanced at the staff strapped across Toriana's back and the rope binding Cullen's wrists. She jerked her head in the vague direction of the largest building in the village and turned dismissively to disappear back into her house with the slam of the door.

Well, then.

Cullen's muttering was getting louder, and as Toriana walked them towards the inn she could hear a word here and there. "Gerard… blood… _I can't!_" His eyes were wild when she looked back at him, his bound hands pressed to his forehead.

"Cullen?" she called softly, trying not to bring attention to them. His head jerked up and he stared at her with wide, unfocused eyes.

"T-Toriana?" he gasped, a shiver running down his spine. She could see him swallow as if it pained him to do so.

She opened her mouth to reassure him that they were almost at the inn where they could rest, when a couple of kids ran out from between two houses and darted between their horses. Aethelstan, probably hoping to feast on their tender young flesh, let out a shriek and reared up, hooves cutting through the air. Cullen was thrown to the ground and the kids, as kids often do when in danger, froze and stared up at the black beast towering over them, fear holding them in place.

The Warden-Commander cursed and leapt off of Pig's back. Disregarding her own fear of the stallion, she grabbed the backs of the children's shirts, and yanked them out of the way just as Aethelstan's hooves slammed back into the earth. He was stomping and snorting, eyes rolling in his head, and he lunged forward with what Toriana could only interpret as malicious intent. She pulled the staff from her back and with a _crack_ that echoed off of the walls of the houses, slammed it into the side of the horse's head.

The beast stumbled back, stunned, and flattened his ears against his head, but he stayed away. Toriana turned to the children, hands on their shoulders. "Are you hurt?" The little girl and what was likely her older brother both stared at her uncomprehendingly. Tori swore again under her breath – they likely didn't speak common tongue, after all they were in Orlais now. She shook her head and gave them each a little push away from the horses, "Get out of here!" she snapped, perhaps a little too harshly.

Not giving them a second thought, Toriana rushed to Cullen's side. He was flat on his back, staring blankly up at the sky, and she had a moment of panic thinking he'd hit his head on a rock and the worst had happened… but he was breathing, and when she knelt beside him his eyes slowly drifted over to her and she saw recognition in them.

"That's not… possible," he murmured so softly she could barely hear.

Toriana shook her head, "What? What's not possible?"

Cullen gave her a strange look, as if he expected she was toying with him, "You… you're supposed to be at Vigil's Keep. You're the…" he trailed off as he looked around them. "Where are we? What's going on?" He moved to sit up but fell back again, coughing and clenching his eyes shut.

The Warden-Commander grimaced, concerned at his behavior. "You fell off your horse, don't you remember?" She pressed her hand to his forehead and sent out the tiniest tendril of healing magic, so as not to be noticed by the locals, to try and see if he had a concussion.

He tensed, sensing the magic, but this wasn't the same Cullen that had tried to kill her just that morning. He clearly had no recollection of their reunion, his withdrawals, and the last month or so, perhaps more. The Cullen before her was the same one she'd first come across in Kirkwall. This Cullen didn't hate her, and so although he gave her a wary look with muscles tensing instinctually as he felt the hum of her magic on his skin, he didn't lash out. He didn't smite her, didn't rip her mana away. He just lay there and let her check his brain, his skull.

He definitely had a concussion, albeit a minor one. She could feel the bruising on his brain, but luckily there was no skull fracture. Either way, she had to get him to the inn where she could heal him in private, without prying eyes judging her and calling upon the Templars. Or mobbing them with torches and pitchforks. Being a Grey Warden didn't matter to simple folk like the ones in this town – a mage was to be feared, even if she did stop the Blight.

The Warden-Commander pulled her hand away and gave Cullen her most charming smile, although she didn't feel at all like smiling at the moment. She rather felt like screaming in frustration and pounding her fists into the dirt like an unruly child, or perhaps just giving up and laying there in the road until someone put her out of her misery. She only hoped her acting skills proved up to keeping him in his current, docile state of mind. She didn't think she could handle him attacking her again.

"Cullen, I'll help you stand up so we can get to the inn. We're getting a room there for a few nights, alright? Can you stand?"

He stared at her as if she had two heads, but he took the hand she offered to him and struggled to stand up. "A-a room?" he managed to choke out before coughing again and letting go of her hand to clutch at his head in pain. Toriana was fast enough to get her arms around him before he fell, and although he was heavier than she was, she managed to keep him on his feet as he groaned.

"Qu'est-ce qui ne va pas avec lui?" A small voice sounded from behind Toriana. She glanced over her shoulder to see the little girl, who couldn't have been more than five years old, standing there and watching them with wide brown eyes. She was in a plain old wool dress that had definitely seen better days, and her short black curls were wild and dirty. Her brother, or whoever the boy was, was much the same, with tattered old clothes and ratty black curls pulled into a messy ponytail at the nape of his neck. They were both watching expectantly.

Shit. Toriana's Orlesian was _rusty_ at best… And she certainly didn't feel like telling the girl '_don't worry, he's simply having lyrium withdrawals and just got a concussion and can't remember the last few months – maybe years – of his life and I have no idea if it's because of the concussion or the withdrawals. Also, he's an ex-Templar, and I'm a mage. Also he tried to kill me this morning after we had sex.'_ Because _that_ would go over great with the villagers.

"Uh... _shit…_ il ... pas se… sentir bien." She mumbled before turning her attention back to Cullen, who seemed to be better now and was standing there red-faced and staring down at her – or, rather, her arms wrapped around his chest. Toriana, temper growing shorter and shorter with each passing moment in this ridiculous situation, glared at him and snapped, "What now?"

Cullen's eyes widened and he looked away, shaking his head and stuttering horribly as he tried to respond, "I-I, well, y-you… I th-thought, th-that…"

Oh dear Maker it was painful watching him, even if it was a bit cute to see his awkward younger self come out again, and so Toriana put him out of his misery. "Cullen. Just shut up and come with me." She kept one arm around his back to provide support, and with the other grabbed Pig's reins (he truly was a good horse, having stood there through it all with an almost bored look on his face and keeping Cullen's mad horse from running off), and they began the slow walk towards the inn.

The two children hadn't left. The slightly older boy, perhaps seven or eight and bearing the same big brown eyes as his sister, stepped forward, "Est-il besoin d'un guérisseur?"

Toriana shook her head a little too quickly, "No! No, he's fine—il… va bien." The last thing they needed was some nosy local shaman, or whatever they called them in Orlais, coming and asking questions. She could heal Cullen better herself, and she'd dealt with enough Templars to last her a lifetime – someone _always_ called for the Templars when they learned she was a mage. And she certainly didn't want to come across _Orlesian_ Templars.

The children stared at them with wide eyes, and Toriana couldn't tell if they didn't believe her, or if they were scared, or what. She'd never been good with kids, especially not in unusual situations like this, and with a language barrier. She tried to keep walking and ignore them, but Cullen was frozen in place, staring at the kids with a strange look on his face. Tori gave him a nudge and was about to say something to get him moving again when the girl's little voice chimed in.

"Où êtes-vous? Êtes-vous de la Ferelden?" She only paused long enough to take a quick breath and wipe her runny nose on her arm, and turned her gaze on Cullen, "Etes-vous un Templier? Etes-vous ivre? Mon père s'enivre beaucoup."

Toriana groaned and pressed a hand to her eyes, and was about to tell the kids to go home when Cullen tensed beside her and she heard a sharp intake of breath. When she opened her eyes he looked between her and the children and shook his head rapidly, his golden eyes suddenly going wild, as if something had snapped.

"No, no… This isn't real, you're not real!" He yanked himself away from her so hard that he stumbled back a few feet, and his voice was becoming more and more frantic. "You can't fool me, demon, I know this is an illusion, a trick!"

"Cullen—" Toriana took a step towards him, making her voice as soothing as she could and holding his hands out to show she was unarmed. It didn't work. Rather, it seemed to make him panic even more and he fell to his knees and curled forward, his bound hands pressed into his eyes as if to hide himself.

"No, I walk in the light, begone…" he moaned weakly, rocking back and forth, completely out of his mind.

The villagers, where before they had been merely peeking out of their windows from between the curtains in curiosity, were now sticking their heads out of doors and blatantly staring. A few had gathered up the road and were talking in raised voices, looking more and more agitated as they gestured toward her. Toriana began to feel a panic she hadn't felt since the Blight clawing into her chest, and she stood there dumbfounded staring at Cullen and utterly at a loss on what to do.

She had messed this up, and now she had no idea how to fix it.

. . . . .

Out of nowhere, a short, cloaked figure stepped from the shadows and rushed to Cullen's side, one pale hand emerging from the cloak to rest on his back, and one to gently touch his hands. Toriana jerked back in surprise and made to grab the staff on her back, thinking perhaps it was some assassin (she had grown far too paranoid), but the figure didn't seem to be hurting him.

In fact, after some whispered words Toriana couldn't hear, Cullen stopped rocking and muttering and slowly raised his head. His eyes were still frightened and confused, but the figure convinced him to stand up and walk towards Toriana, his hands grasping those pale hands from under the shawl. As they got closer, she could barely see underneath the deep hood of the cloak…

"A child!" Toriana gasped, utterly bewildered. What was a child doing running into this, and what had she said to Cullen to calm him down? "_Who are you?_"

"Follow me," was all that the girl said, her voice sounding wiser beyond her years, before turning and leading Cullen away between two houses.

Toriana had no choice but to follow, barely having the sense of mind to grab Pig's reins before she did so. As she stepped in the alley between the houses, a shroud of darkness so deep she couldn't see her own nose enveloped her like a cloud. She froze, until a small warm hand grabbed hers, leading her through it. Tori wanted to pull away, to demand an answer, but there was something in the back of her mind – instinct, or premonition, perhaps – that told her she was in no danger. And so, she let the girl pull her through the darkness.

Whether she was being led to death or safety… that was yet to be seen.

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><p><strong>I do love my cliffhangers ;) Don't forget to review, folks! I love reading any comments and constructive criticism, or any input on where the story's going. It's nice to hear if I'm making sense or not, hah... But really, it's your reviews that keep me from being lazy and not posting anything. So I'm blackmailing you all.<strong>

**That was a joke.**

**But really, I should have the next chapter up within a month! Don't hate me! :]**


	14. The ones we trust

**Author's Note:** I'm sorry this took a little longer than expected to put up, and it's very short. I got a double cartilage piercing a couple weeks ago and one of them is now infected. It's painful and the pain is spreading to my head and neck, so needless to say it's making my mind fuzzy so it's hard to write. I already had this much of the chapter done, so I just decided to leave it as a cliffhanger (you know how I love those) and wait to write more until I'm feeling better and less faint-y. Enjoy, guys, sorry again for a short chapter, the next one should be nice and long, if Tori and Cullen and their new friends cooperate.

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><p>It was a while before the cloud of darkness cleared up, and by that time Toriana, Cullen, and the strange girl were deep in the woods and slowly making their way up a rather steep hill, with the village no longer in sight. Cullen was quiet, following the girl and staring at the ground before his feet.<p>

Toriana stopped walking, forcing the others to stop as well. "_Now_ will you tell me who you are? What's going on?" she asked stubbornly. She wasn't about to be led into some trap, no matter how harmless the girl seemed.

The girl shook her head and tugged gently on her hand, motioning up the hill with a sense of urgency. Tori sighed. What choice did she have? She could refuse to move and let the girl take Cullen, who seemed more keen on following her than Toriana, or she could follow and deal with whatever dangers might be lying in wait. And she wasn't about to give Cullen up.

"Fine, but I expect some answers," she grumbled halfheartedly as she resumed walking. The girl said nothing.

When they reached a certain point, the girl slowed down. Toriana could sense the spicy twinge of magic and she opened her mouth to ask the girl what sort of trick this was when she felt a crawling across her skin, as if she'd walked into a giant spider web. By the way Cullen stiffened, he'd felt it too. They'd just passed through a magical barrier of some sort, and a powerful one at that.

The Warden-Commander stopped and yanked her hand out of the girl's and grabbed her staff from her back, prepared to defend herself if necessary. "That's it, I'm not going a step further until you explain yourself. That was magic. Who cast that? Was it you?"

The girl had turned to face her and although Toriana couldn't see her face from under the cloak, she could sense that gaze fixed on her face. Still she said nothing.

Toriana could feel a tendril of panic creeping into her mind. They had walked into some sort of trap. This must be a demon, or a maleficar, or one of her many enemies. "Answer me!" she shouted, taking a step forward and raising her staff.

"_I_ cast it."

Toriana's head whipped up to where the man's voice had come from and she froze, eyes wide and mouth falling open. From through the trees up the hill stepped a tall, thin man with straight black hair falling around his shoulders. He had a prominent nose, high cheekbones, strong chin, and a dusting of dark stubble across his jaw. And two almost-black eyes were fixed on her. All she could do was stare in disbelief as the girl darted to his side. His thin lips broke into a smile, "Tori," he said, his scratchy voice full of warmth.

Tori almost couldn't speak for a moment as she stared at him. When she finally found her voice, it almost cracked as she said his name. "Jowan?"

He let out a weak little laugh, "In the flesh."

She could barely believe it. Jowan. Standing before her, wrapped in a ratty old blanket, with a girl beside him. What the hell was he _doing_ here?

"What the hell are you doing here?" She threw her hands up to gesture around them, "Orlais? Have you gone _completely_ mad? I told you to get out of Ferelden, to go far away and never come back – I didn't tell you to come to the damned _Templar capitol of Thedas_, you thrice-damned fool!" She could feel that once-familiar frustration bubbling inside of her, that she always felt when Jowan did something utterly stupid. And she'd felt it quite often when they were in the Tower. Before the whole 'blood magic' thing.

Toriana froze and gave Jowan a dark look, "That's a strong barrier you put up, Jowan…" she trailed off, distrust coloring her voice and yet she was still unwilling to openly ask '_did a demon help you do this?_'

Jowan sighed and put his hand on the girl's shoulder, "It's not what you think, Tori." His voice was weak – _exhausted_ – as if he hadn't eaten or slept in days. His gaze shifted to Cullen, who was standing there wringing his hands nervously, rocking back and forth slightly with his eyes fixed on the ground and lips moving in an inaudible string of gibberish. "Come on, at least let me feed you both before you jump down my throat."

Tori couldn't. She couldn't just sweep the years-old betrayals and lies and bitterness under the rug and pretend they were still innocent kids in the Circle. She wasn't the same naïve girl she had been when Jowan had lied to her face about not being a blood mage. And she wasn't about to make that same mistake twice.

Jowan saw she wasn't moving and bent down to whisper something in the girl's ear. She nodded and went to Cullen's side and took his hand again, leading him up the hill through the trees. Toriana took a step forward and made to stop them, but Jowan stepped in front of her, blocking her way. She opened her mouth, ready with an aggressive reproach, but he pulled back the blanket wrapped around him and held his arms out to her, wrists facing up and palms open, and her words stopped in her throat.

His skin was alarmingly pale, and she could see the winding blue veins going up his arms. He really was thin, his elbow bones jutting and hands looking almost wraith-like. His arms trembled more and more the longer he held them out. But nowhere on his hands or arms did she see the wounds or scars of blood magic.

He was watching her face, studying her reaction, his own eyes sad and distant. "You'll just have to trust me, Tori," he murmured softly as he withdrew his arms back under his blanket.

She stared at him for a long time, lips tight and brow furrowed. She studied his features, the gauntness to his face, the weariness in his eyes, the faint rattling in his breath, as if he had something in his throat. She searched his face for a long time, trying to reconcile that old, festering hurt.

What she saw was remorse, guilt, sorrow, exhaustion… and also love, relief, and a hint of happiness. This wasn't the same Jowan who had whined to her about being a terrible mage, or snapped at her in defense of his lover, or frantically resorted to blood magic to save himself. But then again she wasn't the same Tori who had been friendly with everyone, including Templars; who had stayed up all night to help her best friend study for exams; who had stupidly fallen for an obvious lie.

They had both changed. But from what Toriana could see now, he hadn't changed for the worse. And what other option did she have but to trust him now, with Cullen gone away with…

"Who's the girl?" she blurted out. The abruptness of the question, said with that old familiarity and curiosity, seemed to surprise him, but he recovered quickly and gave her a wide smile that brightened his dark eyes.

"That would be my daughter."


	15. The things we lose

**Author's Note:** Well, I had a fun trip to the ER for that stupid piercing infection. But now I'm back to normal and all is well (aside from major stomach upset from all the antibiotics they put me on... eugh...)

This chapter gets pretty angsty, I apologize... I felt like it wasn't depressing enough and had to up the ante, ya know ;] I hope I can get the next chapter up within a month or two, so keep an eye out! And don't forget to comment/review - hearing from my readers gives me inspiration to push through the rough parts, you guys are all awesome.

Enjoy the angst!

**Extra Author's Note I Almost Forgot:** Just as an aside, I wanted to say I do NOT condone hitting animals (well, unless you're being mauled or something). Toriana doesn't have the same restrictions about horses, thus she punches Aethelstan in the face a few times to teach him a lesson. I do _not_ recommend punching horses in the face. Please don't. ;P

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><p>"So you're telling me that you got <em>Lily<em> pregnant? The _Chantry initiate_?" Toriana cackled with glee as they walked towards Jowan's camp, the two horses trailing behind. "I knew she was full of phony self-righteousness! So much for chastity!" Maybe it was petty of her to be so amused at something that happened ten years earlier, but she never claimed to be a proper lady. And she'd never liked Lily much anyways.

A thought crossed her mind and she stopped walking and stared at Jowan, who stopped a few steps ahead once he realized she wasn't moving. "I thought she was locked in Aeonar?"

Jowan's lips turned down into a tight frown, and he looked away, his eyes far, far away and his voice faint. "She was. I had hidden the gold Loghain's men had given me, and after you let me go I found it. The right coins in the right hands will get you a lot of information. Not all Templars are honest men. Nor are all lay sisters." He paused for so long Toriana wondered if he would say any more. Just as she was about to open her mouth to say forget it, he spoke, barely above a whisper.

"She tried to kill Sylvia when she was only a week old. The guards walked in on her… she was…" Jowan broke off and he raised a pale hand to cover his eyes, his voice thick and raw. "She was smothering her with her blanket. She kept screaming and calling her a… a _demon_ child."

Toriana shifted uncomfortably. She couldn't remember ever seeing Jowan cry before, or seeing him so deeply disturbed. And that thought was truly a disturbing one – killing your own baby was beyond evil.

She couldn't let him suffer alone. She closed the gap between them and wrapped her arms around his shoulders and squeezed tight. He was stiff and unmoving in her arms, and the pained silence stretched on. Toriana's fight or make-horrible-jokes instinct kicked in.

"Is that why Sylvia wears such a deep hood then? To hide her demon horns so the locals don't call the Templars?" she said with a halfhearted chuckle as she pulled back, one hand on his shoulder.

Jowan glared at her, "That's not funny," he muttered, but she saw his lips twitch ever-so-slightly.

Tori shrugged nonchalantly, and turned to keep slowly walking, and after a moment he caught up with her. "What happened next?"

"They took the baby away, sent her to a Chantry orphanage to be raised by the sisters there. I lost a lot of money trying to learn where they had hidden her." There was that far-away look again, that deep sadness spiced with a hint of anger. "Lily hung herself that night. I took Sylvia away from the Chantry a month later."

Toriana stopped again. "Jowan…"

He held a hand up, looking more than a little angry. His eyes were dark and hard, his voice sharp. "Don't. She was just the infatuation of a stupid boy who desperately wanted to be loved. She abandoned me when I needed her most, and she's nothing to me now. For me, she died the day she cast me away."

There was that uncomfortable silence again. Though they had put the past in the past, their friendship still wasn't as it had once been.

Jowan grimaced and continued walking, not looking at her. "You did far more for me than she ever did." His laugh then was bitter, "Guess I picked the wrong girl."

"Well yeah, clearly I was the best choice: exceedingly beautiful, exceptionally smart, and damn charming to boot." The words tumbled out of her mouth and she jabbed him gently in the ribs with her elbow, a crazed sort of smile on her face, desperate to make light of the conversation and dispel the uncomfortableness they had wandered into. "If you're into incest, that is, brother."

She had always seen him as sort of a brother. While it had crossed her mind once or twice as a teenager that they might be something more, she had never had the desire to act on it, and they'd often joked about it. Why ruin a great friendship?

Jowan smirked (had he ever smirked before?) and looked at her from the corner of his eye, "We're not _actually_ related by blood, you know. But I suppose Crazy-boy Cullen might take offense if I snatched you from right under his nose."

Toriana let out a choked snort, "Crazy-boy Cullen? How long did you have to wrack your brains to come up with that one?" she teased. Then she realized what he had said. "What the hell is that supposed to mean, anyways? We're not…" she stumbled over her words, "It's not like that. We're not… together. He's a Grey Warden now."

Jowan laughed, "Cullen is? What does he do, _blush_ the darkspawn to death?" Toriana couldn't help but feel he was _far_ too amused by this. And damn if it didn't feel like they were teenagers again, teasing and poking fun at each other. It was good, to pretend nothing was wrong with their worlds, just for a short time.

But the fun had to end sometime. Toriana slowed down and nervously tugged at one of her braids, "He's going through lyrium withdrawals, Jowan." That had come out far more vulnerable, far more scared, than she'd wanted it to.

Her friend turned and looked at her, searching her face, "Bad?" She nodded. He grimaced, "Has he been violent?"

"Only with me. Tried to kill me just a few days ago. Sliced my hand up pretty good and smited me to boot. Hurts like the dickens," she showed him her heavily bandaged hand. She frowned at the pine needle-strewn ground as they climbed further up the hill. Although her phrasing was nonchalant, thinking of that morning was enough to make her throat constrict and her heart hammer. It was still hard to believe he had attacked her.

"Shit."

"Yeah."

Jowan sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "You'll leave his hands tied, right? And keep him tethered to a tree or something? If he hurts Sylvia, or you…" he trailed off before he finished, but he didn't need to, she got the message.

"Don't worry, he won't. I'll keep him controlled. And anyways, Sylvia seems to have a way with him."

"Is that a hint of jealousy I hear?" he teased, bumping his side lightly into hers.

She scoffed, "Jealous of a nine year old? You've got to be kidding me. I just wish I had the ability to shut him up like she does. I don't think whacking him over the head with a rock is a very moral thing to do."

They shared a laugh, and a few moments of comfortable silence before they must have reached their destination, because Jowan stopped and bent over a large, unexciting bush and buried his hands into it. After a bit of rustling he was lifting the bush up and out of the way to reveal an opening in the hard-packed dirt, a wide tunnel disappearing into the darkness.

"Ladies first," he said, bowing sarcastically and chuckling when Toriana rolled her eyes and moved past him.

Pig snorted nervously and tugged on his reins as she stepped into the entrance of the cave. Horses were _not_ underground creatures, and she could see the instinctual fear in his eyes. Toriana stood beside him and rubbed his large cheek, humming softly. "Come on, Pig. I'm sure they've got some apples in there for you."

She never would have thought she'd ever be petting a _horse_, let alone comforting one. My, how things change. She took a couple steps into the cave and although he whickered anxiously and rolled his eyes, Pig followed. Aethelstan, however, was having none of it. He shrieked and reared, pulling so hard on the rope tying him to Pig's saddle that the buckskin gelding was jerked back a few steps before he found his footing again.

"Oh, damn you, you stupid beast!" Toriana cursed and grabbed his reins with her good hand, careful to stand back out of the reach of his flailing hooves. As she yanked him down to all four hooves again, he lunged forward and clamped his teeth down around her shoulder. Swearing and yelling in pain, Tori jerked back and slammed her arm into his large head as hard as she could.

The stallion backed off, but looked about ready to charge again. Pig, normally placid and gentle, made a strange sound and kicked out in Aethelstan's direction, snorting and stomping in agitation. Toriana swore again and pulled her dagger out of her boot. She had an idea. A very pleasant idea, to her.

With a quick movement, she sliced through the rope holding the mad horse to Pig's saddle. "Get out of here!" she shouted, stomping her foot and sending out a small burst of flame from her hand. The black monster shrieked again and turned to take off through the trees. Toriana stood there panting for a moment, hand resting on Pig's side, before she heard a muffled laugh.

Tori gave Jowan a death stare, "Thanks for your help, jackass," she snapped, groaning in pain as she pulled her shirt collar down to examine her shoulder. The damned horse's teeth had left a large mark that was already starting to turn black and blue, and it hurt like hell.

"You were doing so well, I didn't want to interrupt the show." His smirk made her fingers twitch. Maker, how she wanted to give him a solid punch in the mouth.

She sniffed and turned away dismissively to calm Pig, who was chomping at his bit and tossing his mane anxiously. "Come on, boy," she murmured, taking his reins and leading him into the cave. She could still hear Jowan chuckling behind her.

The tunnel went nearly twenty feet into the hillside before winding down in a tight spiral ramp. The walls were moist earth that smelled of plant roots and worms and the sweet, earthy smell of decay. At the bottom of the ramp she could see the faint dancing light of a fire around the corner.

Without waiting for Jowan, who was moving slowly, she rounded the corner and paused in surprise as the tunnel opened up into a rather large cavern. It was nearly large enough to fit an entire house inside – and not the two-roomed shacks of Denerim's common folk, but a full-sized house! The walls here were smoothed down and the earthy smell was gone, replaced with the mouth-watering aroma of freshly cooked soup.

There were three more tunnels leading out of the large room, and off to one side was a large work table full of vials and dishes of strange substances she couldn't identify from the distance. Beside the work table was a desk with papers scattered across it, and nailed to the wall in front of it were many parchments with drawings clearly done by a child – Sylvia, no doubt – at various ages. Alongside the desk was a large, rickety bookshelf stuffed to the brim with a vast array of books and rolled-up parchments that looked as if it was prone to collapse at the slightest breeze.

On the other end of the cavern were multiple barrels of what she assumed was food or water, or both. Dried bundles of various herbs, spices, and vegetables hung from the ceiling, which was lower there than the rest of the room.

The cave _was_ a home. Who knows how many years Jowan and his daughter had been living there. They were certainly set up cozily enough.

"It's not a sprawling estate, but it does us well enough." Jowan's voice behind her startled her out of her trance.

"It's quite amazing, really. How long have you two lived here? Undetected?"

"About seven years. It's hard being on the run with a young child… I had to find us a more permanent home. Stumbled upon this cave one day as we were hiking past – it was much smaller, then, but magic is a hell of a landscaping tool." He grinned, then sobered and furrowed his brow, "It hasn't all been so smooth. There were a few… mistakes made. Problems I had to fix. But we're safe now. Come on, come eat."

His rapid change of subject made Toriana suspicious. What had he done to ensure their survival? But she didn't have much time to dwell on it, because Jowan was already sitting down beside a rather large fire in the middle of the room with a large metal pot hanging above it. Sylvia and Cullen were already settled in with round bread loaves carved into trenchers to hold steaming hot soup.

Sylvia's hood was down, now, and Toriana could see her face. Her hair was long and a dark, bloody red, and utterly wild. Tight curls fell down her back and stuck out at odd angles, as if daring someone to try and tame them. Her features took more after her father than her mother, with high cheekbones and dark eyes, and a jutting chin that gave her a stubborn look. Definitely her father's daughter.

Though he kept his eyes hooded and fixed on the floor while he ate, Cullen looked… good. Better than he had as of late, at least. His hands were still bound tightly together, and that coupled with the thick bandages over his burned arms made maneuvering his bowl and spoon difficult and likely painful. He ate slowly and carefully, measuring each movement to be sure he didn't spill or hurt his arms even more. Toriana watched the way the firelight played along his features, turning his eyes into molten gold and casting shadows along his cheekbones that made him look infinitely… sad.

She turned away abruptly and fidgeted with Pig's tack, clumsy because of her injured hand. She pulled off his saddle and bridle and gave him an affectionate pat on the neck. He really was a good horse. She pulled a dried apple from one of her bags and held it out for him. With soft, gentle lips he plucked it from her fingers and crunched away happily. "Go on, now, rest a bit." She whispered, "I'll take you out to find some water and good grass once it's dark."

When Toriana sat beside the fire between Jowan and Sylvia, Cullen looked up. There was a flash of… something in his eyes, and she wasn't sure if it was relief or affection or confusion. He looked away so quickly she couldn't be sure _what_ it was she'd seen. At least he didn't try to kill her, that was an improvement.

Sylvia silently handed Tori a trencher of soup and a wooden spoon. It was quiet for a bit while they intently ate away those harsh pangs of hunger. As their stomachs filled, Jowan looked between Tori and Cullen curiously.

"So what brings you two to Orlais?" he asked, setting aside his half-eaten food and pulling his blanket around him tighter. "Aren't you supposed to be at Vigil's Keep?"

Toriana grimaced, "I got called to Kirkwall. Finished the job and now we're headed back." She kept it short. She didn't want to talk about what had happened in Kirkwall, about who they had lost. About how she had failed.

Jowan raised his eyebrows, "On foot? That's a two-month journey, at best. Why not just take a ship straight into Amaranthine?"

The Warden-Commander grimaced. "I'm not overly fond of water travel," she growled.

Her old friend chuckled, and the chuckle quickly turned into a cough. A loud, chest-wracking cough that sounded far too wet and painful to just be a typical cold. He covered his mouth with a handkerchief he pulled from under his blanket, and bent out double with the force of the cough.

Toriana watched him with concern, "Are you alright?" He waved her away with his free hand, still coughing into the little square of linen. She glanced over at Sylvia, who had stopped eating and was staring at her father with an inscrutable expression.

After a minute, he finally stopped and hastily tucked his handkerchief back where it came from, shaking his head and smiling, "Must be that horse of yours, Tori. I never could stand the things. The stench…" he joked lightly, but she could see the way his hands trembled where they clung to the front of his blanket. Something wasn't right here.

Jowan looked at Sylvia, still staring at him, "Finish your dinner, now, it's time for bed," he said gently.

She set her food down, "I'm done," she said in that quiet, almost ghostly voice of hers.

Tori's old friend stood with his daughter, "I'll be back in a bit. Help yourself to more food if you wish, there's water in that barrel over there." With an arm around Sylvia's shoulder, he led her through one of the tunnels and out of sight.

Toriana and Cullen were left alone in the room. Having both finished their meals, now there was nothing to occupy them until Jowan's return. She shuffled awkwardly in place before eyeing his bandages, which were starting to wear along the edges and were smeared with dirt.

She steeled herself, knowing it had to be done. "Will you let me change your bandages? They're dirty."

Cullen looked up at her and stared for a moment as if he didn't understand, then his ears turned red and he looked down at his forearms and stammered out, "Ah, y-yes, th-that… I would ap-appreciate that."

So he was back to how he had been in the Circle, then, as a boy. Tori sighed and watched him fidgeting nervously with the cloth on his arms. These mood swings – not just mood swings, rather entire _personality_ changes – were getting exhausting. The switching from blushing schoolboy to vicious attacker to blabbering Chantry zealot to incomprehensible lunatic over the course of one day was entirely off-putting and was keeping her on edge.

And none of those were _her _Cullen. The one she was in love with. They were just masks, facades, cruel jokes played on her by the Maker or the Ancestors or whoever the hell was in charge of their world. Whoever it was was cruel, to torture her with the mere shadow of the man she loved. To torture him with pain and fear and confusion and insanity.

She couldn't help but wonder if all of this would ever end in anything but heartbreak and death.

Toriana cleared her mind as best she could and pulled the bandages and a small ceramic pot of healing salve out of her bag. She found the water barrel and refilled her flask before returning to sit in front of him and gingerly beginning to untie and unwrap his bandages. He took it quite stoically, only flinching in pain and sucking in his breath a few times when the cloth caught on his damaged flesh. She tried to be gentle, as careful as she could be, but it was difficult with the skin so raw.

She grimaced and looked up at him. His eyes were fixed on her face, but when she caught him looking he quickly averted his gaze to stare at the floor a few inches beside him, cheeks pink.

"I'm going to clean this, okay?" Toriana said in her best Healer voice. Now wasn't the time for attachments and messy emotions. She had a job to do.

It was silent the whole time Toriana worked, save for her explanations to what she was doing, and the occasional groan of pain from Cullen. Against her worst fears, he sat there docilely the whole time, with not a single sign that he would attack her. Rather, when she was finished and he had on fresh bandages, he gave her a grateful, if pained, smile.

"Thank you."

She stared at him for a long time, trying desperately to figure him out, to understand. This time, he didn't look away, but met her gaze and held it, and it was almost as if her Cullen was back. Suddenly the distance between them didn't seem so great, and his eyes were clear and amber, dropping to rest on her lips before returning to her eyes. He slowly lifted his bound hands up towards her face, his calloused fingertips ever so gently touching her cheek…

Toriana felt his hands around her neck, his hateful eyes boring into her head and mouth twisted into an animal snarl. She jerked back violently, arm flying up to slap his hands away from her face and an unbidden "No!" tearing from her lips.

Cullen's eyes were wide and shocked, his outstretched hands dropping back into his lap and a bewildered and vaguely hurt look on his face. Tori's eyes darted to his hands in confusion, her heart pounding. He hadn't been attacking her. It was in her head. Yet even as she knew it hadn't been real, she could feel fear and embarrassment twisting in her gut.

She couldn't think. Her mind was racing, darting from terrified to ashamed to distraught to _run, now, get out of here, go!_

Toriana listened to that last thought, and scrambled onto her feet, feeling tears well up unwanted in her eyes. She turned away before Cullen could see them and ran. Ran from Cullen, from the cave, from her fear and embarrassment and guilt and confusion. In the dark in an unknown land, she tripped and stumbled over tree roots and fallen branches, but she didn't stop until she was close to losing her dinner and her side began to cramp excruciatingly.

Finally she collapsed on the ground, sobbing, all of the pent-up pain she'd been feeling came gushing out in a torrent that she didn't want but couldn't control. That hadn't been her Cullen. It hadn't. He was insane. Probably for the rest of his life. And now she was losing it, too, having flashbacks to that morning.

They would never be together. He would never be well again. He'd never look at her with that same passion, that same intensity, that same _love _that he'd looked at her with that day on the riverbank. He'd never get his mind back, and she would never love again.

Toriana knelt in the dirt and covered her head with her arms and cried.

She'd lost all hope.


	16. The ones who betray

**Author's Note:** Originally this chapter was going to be twice as long, just a big juicy one full of drama... but I just wasn't getting anywhere and couldn't get through the second half of it, so I decided instead of sitting on what I had for months and months (oops...) I would just post this half and split the big chapter into two smaller ones. Hope you all don't mind, I just wanted to give you some kind of update and reassurance that I'm still alive and still writing :)

I'll be starting school in the fall (back to college... ohboy...) as well as full-time work and a handful of toddler to chase around, so I won't be updating very often, not that I update often now... but I wanted to give a heads up, there will likely be months between updates from now on. I'll chug away at the next chapter, since it's already half written, but it still might be a while before it's put up.

Sorry for the slowness, and thank you all for remaining loyal readers, I really appreciate your support! Enjoy the latest from Tori & Cullen's melodrama! ;)

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><p>Jowan tenderly brushed Sylvia's red hair back from her forehead and pressed his lips to the pale skin there, being careful not to wake her. "Sleep well, sweetheart," he whispered before standing up and quietly walking out of her small room, leaving the dimly-lit candle on her bedside table.<p>

The air underground was chill, no matter how many torches lined the walls or how big the cooking fire burned, it sent shivers rolling down his spine. He pulled his blanket tighter around himself, as if that would help warm him up. It didn't. It never did. He was always cold lately, always shivering. It was as if his body could no longer remember warmth, let alone create it.

When Jowan returned to the main room, Tori was nowhere to be found, and Cullen was standing at the entrance of the tunnel leading outside and wringing his bound hands anxiously. Suspicion instantly colored the mage's features and made his body tense. He'd never had anything against Cullen – rather he'd found the boy's fascination with his best friend amusing and a small bit endearing – but he certainly didn't trust a Templar _now_, especially when that Templar was currently going through lyrium withdrawals. For all he knew, the newly-made Grey Warden had killed Tori in a fit of delirious rage and had dragged her out of sight.

No, likely not. Toriana wouldn't go down without making a big enough fuss to alert half of Thedas.

Still, something had happened. The tension was almost palpable, and Cullen certainly looked nervous.

He looked even more nervous when Jowan grabbed his shoulder as roughly as he could manage in his weakened state and whipped him around. "Where is she?" the apostate growled. His face seemed to darken, his fingers buzzing with the threat of magic.

To his advantage, Cullen didn't call upon his Templar talents to defend himself against what seemed to be an imminent threat to his life, but rather furrowed his brow and looked over his shoulder at the tunnel. "She… she ran off. I think I upset her. She hasn't been back for a while, now." He sounded remarkably clear-headed, not the maniacal, mumbling mess he'd been when they're arrived, or the bumbling, stuttering idiot he'd been back at the Tower. But he did sound worried. Concerned, for Tori.

Jowan's lips thinned and he let the other man's shoulder go, but his voice was still hard as rock. "What did you do?"

The ex-Templar ran his hands through his hair, leaving it sticking up at odd angles that made him look even more disheveled than he already was. "I… she…" He shook his head helplessly, staring at the ground, "I didn't mean to upset her…" he said, his hands beginning to fidget anxiously yet again.

The apostate opened his mouth to let out a scathing remark, but was interrupted by Toriana bursting through the tunnel, staff in hand and eyes wild. She barely stopped to shove both men away from the entrance before she was running to Pig's side and throwing the saddle on his back. "We need to leave, _now!_" she shouted, her voice tight with panic. "Templars are coming!"

They were lucky there was an escape tunnel out the back – Jowan had truly built their home well. They had grabbed only what they absolutely needed – weapons, just enough food and water to last a few days, and some lyrium potions and health poultices Jowan had tucked away for emergencies.

They'd had to rouse Sylvia from her sleep and, barely awake, hefted her up into Pig's saddle. When Toriana insisted Jowan ride behind his daughter on the horse's back, he'd protested, and she'd snapped that he was clearly too weak to run and would only slow them down. When an alarm sounded through the air – a jarring ringing that echoed throughout the cave and set her nerves further on edge – he relented. The alarm was from a ward he placed there to warn him if his magical barrier had been breached. They didn't have much time.

Now they tore through the forest as fast as they could go without falling over roots and breaking a leg in the dark. Cullen thankfully stayed close, though his eyes were starting to get that caged, frantic look in them and Toriana could see his sanity slipping away ever more each time she glanced back at him. She called out encouragements to the others as quietly as she could, so as not to give away their location. They'd make it, she said. They'd be alright. She would lead them to safety.

When truly, she was scared. Being Warden-Commander in Ferelden wouldn't help her now. Not in Orlais, with their Templar and Chantry zealots. Not with the tensions escalated by the recent attack in Kirkwall. Not when she had no proof she was the Warden-Commander, aside from her griffon armor now tucked away in her saddlebags. Not now that she was an accomplice to a known blood mage and seemed to be holding a mad Templar captive. And who knows what else Mekel had told them she'd done.

Toriana would kill him. She'd kill that double-crossing, nug-humping, Blighted sack of shit if it was the last thing she did. They'd come upon her quietly, her quiet sobs masking the sounds of their approach until she looked up and there they were. Templars, at least ten of them, with Mekel standing in front.

She'd instantly known what was happening, that she'd been betrayed, lurching to her feet and pulling her staff off her back and throwing a fireball at the ground in front of them before turning and running as fast as she could. They'd tried to stop her, to smite her magical abilities down and make her easier to catch, but as soon as she had disappeared through the trees their talents were useless. Although she was exhausted from her earlier run through the forest and the long day of travel, she managed to keep ahead of the Templars. It helped that they were clambering around in heavy armor and she was in simple clothes.

The sounds of their pursuit weren't getting any farther away – if anything, the shouts were getting closer. Having to weave through the trees with a horse in the dark as well as encourage a half-mad man to keep up was forcing them to barely above a swift walk. They would never make it. They had to fight.

Toriana thought hard as she yanked Pig's reins too roughly around yet another fallen log, ignoring his whinny of protest. Cullen might be alright if captured. He was a Templar, after all, and it could be argued that lyrium withdrawals and made him incapable of understanding that he was with a blood mage apostate. Perhaps he would even be given more lyrium and put back to work, if that could stem the encroaching madness. Jowan and Sylvia, however, would have no chance at all. Even if Sylvia was allowed to live, they'd both be locked up for life and Jowan would no doubt be made Tranquil. Or executed. She would not let that happen, especially when it was her fault the Templars had found them in the first place.

"Papa, I'm scared," Sylvia whimpered, her voice quiet and trembling and her face pale.

Jowan pulled her tighter to his chest and his brow furrowed with worry and fear. "We'll be alright, sweetheart," he murmured in her ear. "I won't let them hurt you."

The Warden-Commander's mind was made up. "Go. As fast as you can, get away to somewhere safe. I'll draw them away." Her voice was firm, left no room for argument.

Her old friend looked down at her from his height on the horse, and his eyes were conflicted. "Tori…"

"Do it, Jowan, we don't have time to argue!" She snapped, glaring at him and stopping. Without a second thought she slapped Pig's rump as hard as she could, watching in satisfaction as her horse shrieked and took off running.

They quickly vanished through the trees, but Toriana didn't stay to watch. She looked at Cullen, who had stayed by her side, his eyes wide and darting all about them as if monsters would suddenly jump from the shadows and attack. The calm, collected, _sane_ Cullen from the cave was gone. Or perhaps he was still there, and he was just as scared as she was.

Here she was, likely about to be run through by a group of Templars in a dark forest in an attempt to buy her friend more time, and the one thing she regretted most in her life right now was that she had never told Cullen how she felt. That fear seemed so stupid to her now, so childish. She'd wasted precious time with him bickering and arguing and closing him off, pretending there was nothing there, when in the end _that_ was all that truly mattered. What they felt for each other.

The shouts of their pursuers told her they were nearly on top of them. Toriana suddenly leaped forward, burying her fingers in Cullen's hair and pulling him down to her height, and pressed her lips to his so hard their teeth clicked and she was sure her lip was bleeding. He tensed for a split second before relaxing and kissing her back, his bound hands lifting to pull her face harder against his.

It wasn't a kiss of tenderness, of gentle and innocent love, of raw passion and gasping desire. It was a kiss of desperation, one that ached with sadness because it spoke of all the time they would never get to spend together, all the years of happiness they'd missed out on, all the things left unspoken. And when it ended Tori pressed her forehead to his – hard, as if that might drive the thought further into his head – and locked her eyes with his. "I love you, you know that?"

Cullen's eyes were dark and sad, as if he knew and understood what was about to happen, and his voice was barely a whisper. "Yes."

Toriana released her grip on his hair and shoved him away from her so hard that he stumbled and nearly fell. Just in time, as the Templars broke through the trees merely a second later and didn't see their embrace. They didn't know Cullen was in love with a rogue mage. He would be safe.

With a grim air of determination, she tightened her grip on her staff and released a torrent of cold air towards the nearest cluster of men. She had the element of surprise – they likely hadn't expected her to stop running anytime soon – and three of the men screamed as their skin became covered in ice and cracked open. Without waiting to center her strength again in the fear that any time wasted would give them more time to smite her, the Warden-Commander threw a fireball at two more men. Their wails of pain didn't faze her, not now, not when the lives of those she loved were at stake. She would kill any Templar, make it rain blood, to keep them safe.

Even with her powerful staff, using such strong spells in such a short amount of time was both taxing and intoxicating. The more she desperately drew from the Fade, the more her control slipped through her fingers and the sickly call of power whispered in her mind. She sent out another cone of cold, this time raising up sharp spears of ice from the ground to mercilessly skewer the Templar who wasn't fast enough to move away.

Shadows paced on the other side of the Veil, hungrily basking in the feeling of death and desperation and waves of energy rolling off of her, watching and waiting for her to slip up. An armored man lunged at her with his sword swinging at her neck, and she ducked and stabbed the sharp blade at the end of her staff up into the soft spot in his armor just under his arm. Before he could do more than cry out in pain, she pushed forward and pressed her hand to his face and called flames forth through her hands to scorch his flesh.

Three more Templars surrounded her from opposite sides, spiked mace and longswords ready. Panting with the exertion, the Warden-Commander raised her staff to raise a blizzard around her… And a wall came slamming down, wrenching her from her precarious hold on the Fade and bringing her to her knees as waves of pain and nausea wracked her body.

She could hear the calls of the Templars to each other, their tone at first confused and then comprehending. As her head pounded in agony, she could only catch a few key words of Orlesian here and there. '_Apostate'… 'withdrawals'… 'smite'… 'Templar.'_

Hands were grabbing her by the hair and yanking her to her feet, and this time she didn't manage to bite back her cry of pain as hairs were ripped out of her scalp and the throbbing in her head turned into piercing pain. She slit her eyes open and could see Cullen standing a few feet away, eyes wide and scared and darting between her and the man holding her hair. Through the fog in her mind she could see his uncertainty, how he was torn between coming to her rescue and not wanting to make the situation worse. He was afraid of what these men would do, and that made her afraid.

Another Templar was pulling her hands behind her and clamping heavy iron manacles around her wrists so tight they bit into her flesh, the anti-magic wards chafing and peeling away layers of skin. Protesting would be useless, in fact she was sure it would merely bring satisfaction to her captors knowing she was in pain.

"Little bitch." The man holding her hair spoke the King's Tongue in a strong Orlesian accent, making him barely understandable. "You killed seven of my men – _seven!_ Dog lord whore!" He spat in her face and she recoiled in disgust, serving only to make him grasp her hair even tighter and give her head a shake. Her stomach churned even more. She could see Cullen start to move forward and she widened her eyes at him, begging him to stop, to stay out of it.

The man holding her – who she assumed was the leader of the group – switched his sharp gaze to Cullen. "You!" he barked, "You are the Templar Mekel spoke of, yes?" Not waiting for an answer, he continued, "You still have your talents even without the lyrium? You stripped this apostate bitch of her magic, yes?"

Toriana froze and looked at Cullen. _He_ had smote her? Her mind raced, conflicted. Why? There were only five more Templars, she could have fought them off and they could have escaped! Why would he sabotage her now?

The ex-Templar stood there, struck dumb and glancing between Toriana and the Templar leader. His bound hands were wringing anxiously again, twisting and tangling his fingers together as he trembled. His eyes said it all. She could see it. He had lost it again, his mind spinning out of control and leaving him to panic and gasp alone, only half-aware of what was going on around him.

The Templar leader let out a noise of frustration and gestured sharply at Cullen, "Someone grab this fool!"

A large man stepped forward and grabbed Cullen by the arm and began roughly pulling him away. The last look Toriana gave Cullen was one of betrayal and pain. And then the Templar slammed the hilt of his sword into the back of her head. White agony filled her vision and took over her body, there was a sensation of falling, then everything went black.


End file.
